The Black Prince
by Trevor the Enchanter
Summary: Cersei births a trueborn son: Ormund Baratheon. How will his presence impact the Game of Thrones?
1. Birth

283 AC

"Just a little more, Your Grace." The midwife told Cersei Lannister on the birthing bed. "You're nearly there!" An agonized scream was the only response that she was capable of uttering at that moment.

As with Joffrey, her husband Robert was nowhere to be found. Had she not been exhausted and in so much pain, she would have been furious. As it stood, however, she could only focus on bringing her child into the world and praying that both of them would survive.

Jaime stood over them, giving her a silent smile. She gave a brief nod in acknowledgement and continued to push. Cersei had been in the birthing bed for several hours, and she dearly hoped that her agony would soon be over.

Whose son it would be, she did not know. The gods were good and allowed Joffrey to be of Jaime's seed. Robert had not visited her bed very often and even less as time went by, something she was deeply grateful for

"One more push, your grace." The midwife encouraged, her hands grasping the child's head. Jaime grabbed her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze and trying to hide how worried he was for her.

Cersei was covered in sweat and tears, yet still she managed to allow her child to be born. Would it be a boy or girl? It was said that a girl would usually follow a male child, but she paid little attention to such silly superstitions.

He was close, real close to being out of her. Cersei steeled herself against the bed, her hands gripping it as she pushed. Her eyes were blinded by sweat, too exhausted to even fear for her safety.

But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was over. Cersei collapsed, barely conscious and severely dehydrated. Jaime wiped her brow, holding her hand and smiling at her. "I'm all right," she mouthed in an effort to reassure him, too exhausted to speak the words out loud.

"It's a boy, your grace." The midwife announced, presenting her infant to her. Even in her exhaustion, Cersei recognized the dark black mane that was on her son's head. She had not known, not for sure, whom this child would ultimately belong to.

Once she had recovered enough for her brain to acknowledge that he was indeed Robert's son, Cersei began to tremble in sheer horror. "Well… he's a handsome baby." Jaime did his best to hide his disappointment.

"No…. no, no, no, no, no…" Cersei repeated over and over, too quietly for anyone but her brother to hear.

"It's ok, I'm not angry with you." Jaime promised, clenching his fist at the thought of that… man who dared to proclaim himself king lying with his sister. There was little he could do about it, yes, unless he wanted to become a Kingslayer a second time.

Cersei could not tell him even if she had the strength to do so. Her brother would not believe her; no one would. The words uttered by Maggy the Frog all those years ago echoed through her mind: _"Four children you shall have, three of them with golden hair, the fourth black. All of them you will see die, but your black-haired child will endure the most horrific fate of all. His screams will echo for the entire world to hear."_

"Jaime… keep him safe." Cersei pleaded with her twin brother. She refused to allow her son to be subjected to such a horrible fate. She would see all of Westeros burn before she allowed that to happen. It didn't matter that it was Robert's instead of Jaime.

She smiled down on him as his fed, his crying fit having concluded. Jaime was more concerned about Cersei, even if this had been easier than her first birth.

She did not know how much time had passed before Robert returned from his hunt, holding a deer pelt in his hand. "So is it a son or daughter?" Robert's voice echoed through the room. He was still the powerful presence he had been during the war, although he was beginning to put on weight thanks to his excesses.

He grabbed his son from Cersei's grip without warning, leaving her terrified that the clumsy oaf would drop him. Robert wrapped him up in the pelt, brushing his finger against his son's cheek. In that moment, in Cersei's eyes, he almost appeared human. His happiness was plain to see.

"I'll name him Ormund, after my Grandfather." Robert proclaimed. His son looked up at him and actually smiled, making him laugh even harder. And thus Ormund Baratheon, Second of his Name, was born.

XXXXXXXXXX

AC 287

"Make it go away…" Ormund moaned, moving weakly from side to side in his bed.

"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Cersei pleaded with Grand Maester Pycelle. Her son had been sick for days and was steadily getting worse, leading her to fear that she would lose him before his life had even begun.

"I am doing everything in my power, your grace." Pycelle attempted to reassure, the old man hunched over her son. "Greywater Fever is generally not lethal, provided that he is given enough water." He grabbed another glass and carefully poured it into his mouth. "Most commonly found in the Neck, but…"

"I don't care where it's commonly found!" Cersei snapped at him, her fragile patience at an end. "Just cure him!" She squeezed his hand gently and sat by his side, feeling the wet cloth on his forehead. Ormund was burning up, but had fortunately fallen asleep.

More than anything, Cersei Lannister hated feeling helpless. There was nothing she could do for him, save to pray that he was strong enough to fight this disease. It was a disease she had contracted as a child herself, although she had been considerably older at the time.

"Your Grace, if I may interject… you are doing no good here." Pycelle pointed out nervously. "I will inform you when he wakes up and if his condition is improving."

"I am the queen; you do not order me to do anything!" Cersei screamed. "if you so much as suggest I leave him again, I'll stick your head on a pike!" Pycelle fell silent, not wanting to upset her again. She rubbed her pregnant stomach, knowing her son or daughter would likely be in the same position soon enough. Disease took many children, rich and poor alike.

Eventually, however, she did push herself to her feet. "Tell me the instant he wakes up," She demanded of Pycelle before department. She nodded briefly in approval at the guards outside the door. Cersei refused to let her children be in the Red Keep without a guardian, not even for a moment.

Robert soon approached, holding Myrcella in his right arm. Cersei wanted to scream at him for being so clumsy with her daughter (not his, a fact Robert was blissfully unaware of) but did not have the energy at the moment. "How's our son doing?" Robert asked, unusually quiet and somber.

"No improvement," Cersei struggled not to cry. She refused to show weakness in front of this oaf who dared to call himself her husband.

"When he gets better, he'll be running everywhere in the Red Keep." Robert chuckled. "I can't even keep up with him sometimes!" To Cersei's astonishment, he actually placed his hand on her shoulder. "He'll pull through, Cersei. He's a Baratheon; fighting is in his blood!"

"I hope you're right." Her husband's display surprised her, but Cersei did not shrug her off as she normally did. Occasions like these where the two of them connected were few and fewer with each passing year, but their son's illness had temporarily put aside the animosity they felt towards one another.

"Mommy, is my brother going to die?" Joffrey asked, a worried expression on his face. The two of them were all but inseparable, constantly exploring the Red Keep and had even attempted to explore the city itself, although she had intervened before they could.

"No, sweetling, he's not going to die." Cersei promised, hoping it was true. "Your brother's a fighter. He's not going to let illness take him." She hugged her oldest son like her life depended on it, not wanting either Joffrey or her husband to see her crying.

Many days went by and Ormund recovered slowly but completely. When she saw him well enough to leave his bed, Cersei gave a silent prayer to the Mother in thanks, however little she might have cared for the Gods.

XXXXXXXXXX

This idea has been in my mind for a long time and I decided it was long past time I make my own attempt at a frequent plot device in Game of Thrones. Just a word: he's not going to be the perfect prince, flawless, kind, unrivaled in combat… a Gary Stu in essence.

I'm hoping to have the second chapter up within a few days.


	2. First Steps

I must say, I'm flattered at the response this story has gotten so far. Thank you to everyone! I wasn't planning on posting this for a couple of days yet, but I received a burst of inspiration. To answer someone's question, no, I don't see this turning into an Arya/Ormund or Sansa/Ormund story. I've got a preliminary pairing in mind, but that's considerably in the future of this story.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Where is he?" Cersei hissed at him, her voice oozing with loathing.

"I am looking for him, woman!" Robert was on the verge on losing his temper. "I am doing everything I can, so stop badgering me!" He was pacing around his room, finishing off yet another goblet of wine.

Their son Ormund had disappeared hours ago when he was supposed to be at his lessons and Robert had ordered his son to be found with promises of a rich reward. It was not the first time that his son had decided to wander around King's Landing without saying a word to anyone, but he had never been gone this long. Robert was more worried than he would admit to himself, considering how many enemies he had at court.

"Your best isn't good enough; it never has been." Cersei glared, "You can't even keep track of your own son. What kind of man are you?"

"Enough!" Robert slammed his fist onto the desk. "I will not tolerate this, woman, not now!" Had they been different people, the two of them would have comforted each other over fears of what could happen to Ormund, but over the course of their marriage, they had grown to truly despise one another.

 _Gods, how did I end up with such a creature?_ Robert shuddered. When they had married, he knew that he would never love again after his beloved Lyanna passed away, but had hoped that the two of them would at least be on friendly terms. He had tried many times over the first few years to form a connection with her, but Cersei utterly despised him and made no secret of it. Eventually, he had given up and spent no more time with her than he was forced to.

He was sorely tempted to go out there and search with his own eyes, but as the King, he was far too recognizable. "If anyone's harmed him…" He clenched his fists in rage. He wasn't the fool that so many considered him; he knew better than to truly trust those whom he had defeated on the battlefield, like the Tyrells and Greyjoys. Both of them would be delighted to either murder or kidnap his son.

The more likely conclusion was that he had simply gone exploring once again, leaving his tutor without a student. If his whoring and drinking did not drive him to an early grave, then surely Ormund would.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I have to admit, I never imagined it would be like that." Ormund remarked. "I mean, I've read about it and I've heard stories, but none of it could really compare to the real thing."

"So… I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did, Nephew?" Tyrion quipped, observing Ormund with a certain spring in his step. Both of them were wearing cloaks, and to a bystander, they would appear as just two individuals doing business in King's Landing. "I told you that fucking would be unlike anything you've ever experienced."

"Ok, ok, I'll never doubt you again." Ormund rolled his eyes. All of it- well, most of it- had been Tyrion's idea, with his Uncle proclaiming that he needed to experience the finer pleasures in life and refusing to take no for an answer. At the age of 14, Tyrion had decided that it was time he got to know a woman's touch.

He was a bit hesitant at first. When Ormund was younger, he had been terrified of his Uncle Tyrion, his mother constantly warning him about what a vile Imp he was. Tyrion had been nothing but friendly to him; in spite of that, he had been very slow to allow him into his life. Recently, however, he had been growing to consider Tyrion his favorite uncle and their recent visit had only solidified it.

"So how was it?" Tyrion asked. "And please, spare no details. I want to know everything my dear nephew learned to experience."

"Sorry, what happened between Alayaya and me stays between us." Ormund shrugged. "Unlike a certain Imp I could mention, I don't go around constantly bragging about my sexual exploits."

"Up until now, you haven't had any exploits to brag out." Tyrion refuted.

"Not all of us can be as depraved as you, you know." Ormund joked. "One good thing about it: you know all the best brothels in town."

"And all the whores by name," Tyrion smirked, even though that was somewhat of an exaggeration.

"Well, I've learned you definitely live up to your reputation." Ormund laughed. "I'd have thought you wouldn't accept me exploring King's Landing."

"Oh, every boy needs a good adventure and those lessons can be the dullest thing in Westeros." Tyrion remarked. "Besides, I'm far more intelligent than your tutor. Ask me anything and I'll give you the answer. Or don't ask; I'll tell you anyway. You know how much I enjoy the sound of my own voice."

"You mean like right now?" Ormund remarked. They were not far from the Red Keep at this point, which meant it would soon be time to face the consequences of his actions.

Ormund felt a sense of dread. He knew he was going to be punished, but it didn't mean he was unafraid of the consequences. He dearly hoped it wouldn't be a similar scene to what he had witnessed a year ago.

From a young age, he had grown to enjoy exploring King's Landing on his own for two reasons. First was just his natural curiosity; the second was because in the streets, he would hear what the smallfolk were really saying, not just what those in the Red Keep wanted him to believe.

Last year, his father had caught him; he had meant to return earlier but had lost track of time. The King's response was a strong slap across the face, his face red with rage. "You do not skip your lessons to go exploring in this gods-damned city!" He bellowed. "I don't care for your excuses! I was about to send the city guard to find you! If you ever pull that again, you will be SORRY!" His father had grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, their faces only an inch apart.

It had gotten far uglier after that. His mother protested the treatment and he could hear the two of them fighting into the night. When he stopped to listen, his mother had threatened to kill him in his sleep Seeing his parents completely tear each other apart like that hurt Ormund far worse than the hit ever could have.

"Ormund… I do apologize for any trouble you get into as a result of this." Tyrion sighed. "I just wanted you to have a bit of fun, not to mention a little bonding help." He hesitated for a moment before adding. "Look, I can shoulder some of the blame, tell my sister that…"

"That isn't necessary." Ormund shook his head. "Besides… it was definitely worth it, in more ways than one." He laughed to himself, unable to keep a grin off of his face despite the consequences he knew that he would soon encounter. "Hmm… I wonder when I'll find the time to go back there."

"By the Gods, I've created a monster." Tyrion shook his head at Ormund's antics.

"Well, you should have known better." Ormund quipped. "And don't expect me to return the favor and pay for your fun… Lannisters can afford anything, or so I've been told." It wasn't something that he planned on doing on a regular basis, as his father did, but he didn't see the harm in having a good time every so often."

Ormund!" A voice interrupted the two of them, Jaime Lannister nearly sprinting towards them, his Kingsguard cloak glistening in the sunlight. "Where the hell have you been?! I've been tearing the city apart looking for you! Your mother's been terrified something's happened to you!"

"All right, all right." Ormund sighed. He couldn't evade the inevitable forever. In an effort to change the subject, he asked: "So since you're taking me to her, I want to know: why did you kill the Mad King?"

"Don't change the subject! Come on!" Jaime snapped, nearly dragging the two of them back into the Red Keep.

"You could at least answer me before I have to suffer father's anger." Ormund fired back, not deterred in the least. It was far from the first time he had asked his Uncle Jaime about it. The man had always been kind and friendly to him, and he had a difficult time believing that his uncle could truly be the evil oath-breaker that the majority claimed he was (Although rarely to his face) "I'm going to get the answer out of you sooner or later!"

"Are you ever going to stop?" Jaime groaned, his nerves severely on edge. "You know the answer already and even if I did repeat it, you would not cease to leave me alone."

"That's because I know bullshit when I smell it." Ormund declared. Being a Prince, even if not the crown Prince, meant that ability was a necessity for survival.

"I can't help but be curious myself, brother, so why don't you indulge us before the two of us are forced to face my sister's wrath?" Tyrion added. Jaime did not deign to reply, deciding that silence was the better option at the moment. Ormund wasn't deterred; he would continue to ask and cajole until he heard the full truth. He wasn't known for giving up and this was no exception.

He didn't fear his father's blows. Ormund had been on the receiving end a few times, as had Joffrey (Tommen and Myrcella had never done anything to merit punishment), though it wasn't something that his father made a habit of doing. What he did not want to witness, what he was tired of witnessing, was how his parents treated each other. When he was very young, his mother and father still disliked each other, but there were occasional moments of closeness and understanding. Now, however, things became very ugly whenever the two of them were together. Even despite knowing better, he listened to the two of them and knew that he was a frequent reason for their arguments. Neither of them made more than the barest effort to hide it. Compared to that, a bit of physical punishment was nothing.

"Come on, cheer up." Tyrion encouraged in an effort to keep him from being overwhelmed with fear. "Just remember: whatever else happens, you got to experience a woman: the greatest feeling at all."

"Ok, I found him." Jaime announced, opening the door to the King's bedroom without bothering to knock. Ormund was more than a little surprised to see his parents in the same room without coming to blows. "My nephew apparently decided that wandering the city was more important than his lessons."

"I'll take it from here, Kingslayer!" His father exclaimed. "Out!" Jaime obeyed without a word, even though his hatred for the King was plain as day to all but the most oblivious of men. "Explain." His father glared and crossed his arms. His Mother was clenching her fists, her eyes wandering between her husband and son.

"Ok, if you really want to know… I was visiting Chataya's brothel." Ormund felt the truth would serve him best, even though there was no way to weasel out of this entirely. "I wanted to know what it would be like to have sex, truly know instead of simply reading or hearing about it, and it seemed a lot more fun than lessons that I already know. It definitely didn't disappoint and when Uncle Tyrion learned of my plans, he decided to come along." It was highly embarrassing to say this in front of his mother, but it wasn't as if he had any true choice in the matter. He let out a deep breath and braced himself for the worst. His father extended his arm out towards his son

And clasped his hand onto Ormund's shoulder. "That's my boy!" His father laughed. "It's about time you become a man! The feel of a woman… no words to describe it! Now if you want a father's advice, the finest brothels in King's Landing can be found…"

"What?" Ormund managed to say, his brain still attempting to process the new circumstances. His father wasn't screaming… or lecturing or…" "Well, father, I was curious as to what it was like. I'm sorry for not telling you, but I wanted to experience it by myself. You do attract quite a lot of attention, after all." Being congratulated was not what he was anticipating. In hindsight, considering his father's reputation, perhaps it wasn't so unexpected after all.

"Ahem," His mother cleared her throat, interrupting the King before he could truly get going. Ormund dearly wished that, even though it was far from uncommon for married men to visit brothels, that his father would at least be a little more discreet about it. "I'd like to talk to him alone, since you seem so determined to congratulate him without pointing out how much danger he put himself in!" She turned to him and said: "Don't you ever do that again! Do you have any understanding what could have happened to you out there?" Cersei hugged her son, as if trying to prove to herself that he was truly unharmed.

"Mother, I'm fine!" Ormund insisted, exasperated. Ever since he could remember, Cersei had smothered him, and had done everything possible to keep him from doing anything risky. While Joffrey might have been perfectly fine with an overprotective mother, Ormund chafed under it. "I know how to take care of himself!"

"Come on, don't suffocate the boy!" Robert proclaimed, with Ormund dearly hoping that this wouldn't turn into yet another fight between his parents. "He's a young man and needs to experience some joys in life. Just between me and him, those lessons are boring as hell anyway. Ah, I remember when I was a boy, running away and exploring the countryside whenever I could."

"I can't see you ever misbehaving like that, father." Ormund lied, humoring him.

"You don't know the half of it!" His father's voice echoed through the room. "I got into more trouble, fucked more women, and more whippings than you can imagine, son! All of them worth it!

What he didn't tell his parents, what he didn't even tell Uncle Tyrion, was that he considered this more than just an opportunity to lose his virginity. Thanks to this outing, Ormund had also obtained several spies in his employ. It amazed him how free the men's tongues were after a round of sex, speaking when anyone could hear them.

The best part was that he now had the information to do what he had wanted to do for a long time.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ormund all but ran through the hallways, focused on his destination. Although he had sorely wanted to do this as soon as he received the information, he felt that waiting until nightfall would be the more prudent course. There was no point in taking unnecessary chances, not in a city like King's Landing.

"I do apologize for waking you in the middle of the night, Ser Barristan." Ormund turned to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and apart from Arys Oakheart, the only one of them that he felt was worthy of wearing the white cloak.

"No apologies are necessary, Your Grace." Ser Barristan shook his head. "I am, of course, always eager to see justice done."

"I hope everything in his place." Ormund knew it wasn't as easy as it looked. He had hand-picked some of the gold cloaks that he was at least reasonably certain were honest, or at least intelligent enough to realize that making an enemy out of the Prince was an unwise thing to do. He knew that he did not know everything about them but hopefully after this, at least some of the corruption will be cleared out.

"You're certain Slynt's alone in there?" Ormund pressed. "And that he has no knowledge about any of this?"

"Quite certain, Your Grace." Jacelyn Bywater informed him.

"Proceed, then…" Ormund ordered, fully intending to enjoy every moment of this. Barristan opened the door to his room, more than a little surprise to find it unlocked. He hadn't thought the Commander of the Gold Cloaks would be so careless, but that only made this operation easier.

However, it did not go quite as smoothly as they hoped, for the noise awakened Slynt and at once he was on his feet, sword in hand. "Who is that?!' He demanded in spite of being unprepared and completely naked. "Answer me or I'll have your head, you…"

"I don't think my parents would want to hear that you threatened the life of their son, Slynt." Ormund refused to use the man's title. So far as he was concerned, the man exemplified everything that disgusted him about King's Landing.

"Your Grace… I am so, so, so sorry." Slynt was all but trembling at this point and immediately dropped to one knee. "What can I do for you?" They were difficult to make out in the candlelight, but seeing Ormund's cold stare, along with Barristan Selmy and several gold cloaks informed him that this was likely to mean nothing good.

"I'm just here to inform you that you are under arrest." Ormund stared at him with all his fury. It took all his self-control not to shove his sword through the man's throat, but this had to be done the proper way. "You stand accused of receiving bribes, embezzlement, and murder."

"Lies! Slander!" Slynt denied, though it was clear that he wasn't convincing any of them. "I deny them! These are nothing but rumors spread out of jealousy of my importance!"

"Importance?" Ormund scoffed. "You're nothing! You're not nearly as clever as you believe you are." He turned to the Gold Cloaks and ordered: "Search the room; leave nothing unturned." This was the moment of truth. It was still possible that some of them could be Slynt's toadies. Barristan watched them carefully in case Ormund's beliefs about their honesty proved to be incorrect.

Instead, the room was searched one stone at a time. Slynt was trembling from a mix of anger and rage. Ormund held him at swordpoint, making sure he understood that fighting was a bad idea. He fidgeted impatiently as he waited for them to conclude the search.

"Here, we found something!" Bywater announced, tossing Ormund a small sack of gold. He grabbed the candlelight and looked in carefully, wanting to make sure this was truly genuine.

"Hmm… fifty-six gold dragons." Ormund remarked, stepping a little closer to the man. "I admit that I am no master of coin, but I still know this is far beyond your salary as commander." His voice turned to pure ice. "You wouldn't be embezzling this from the treasury, would you?"

"I have powerful friends!" Slynt decided to change his tactics. "Influential friends! They will not stand for this!"

"Yes, I'm well aware of who your friends are." Ormund warned you. "Many of them are being rounded up as we speak. And no one is going to overrule me, certainly not for the sake of a man like you."

"My Lord… Your Grace… mercy, please!" Janos Slynt, upon realizing that denial and threats were getting him nowhere, was reduced to begging. He collapsed to his knees and begged: "Show mercy on me, please! Everything I did, I did for the realm! I have only ever followed orders!"

"Get this filth out of my sight!" If Ormund was forced to endure his presence any longer, he was likely to shove his sword through his gut rather than give him a trial. Protesting, crying, Janos Slynt was forcibly dragged from his room alternating between threats and pleas for mercy. Ormund paid it no mind, considering it nothing more than the wailings of a soon-to-be-dead man.

It wouldn't be enough to truly clean out the disease that was King's Landing, not even close. At the same time, it was a beginning, and Ormund was proud to begin making a true difference.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, I'm hoping I wrote Tyrion accurately. He's one of my favorite characters and I hope I captured his wit, perversions, and snark. Next chapter, I'll finally be introducing the Starks. As always, please review; they motivate me to keep writing.

A note about Ormund: he does love his parents, but hates seeing them completely tear each other apart the way they do. It's had a strong effect on him, which will become more apparent as the story goes on.


	3. Winterfell

Okay, just for future reference, the ages for the characters are at this point:

Jon, Robb, Joffrey: 16

Ormund: 15

Sansa: 14

Myrcella: 13

Arya, Tommen: 11

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

 _Thank the gods that's finally done,_ Ormund groaned, walking the Red Keep. Small council meetings frequently left him angry and exhausted, making him feel wearier than a day of sparring.

The first thing he learned when he finally decided to start attending them was that while his father might have technically been King, the realm had been run by Jon Arryn and Uncle Stannis. In the past, it seemed normal for his father not to bother attending Small Council meetings, leaving it to his advisers while he saw it fit to drink and whore throughout King's Landing. Only when sitting in on the meetings himself did he truly come to realize what a disaster that policy was.

Cynical as he was, he had thought Uncle Stannis' complaints were at least somewhat of an exaggeration, Ormund being well-aware of his grim personality. Now, though, he realized that if anything, he was downplaying it. All of them seemed much more interested in personal squabbles and enriching themselves than actually keeping the realm stable.

"At least Slynt's dead," Ormund announced to himself. He had been executed within a few days of being arrested, with Ormund refusing to give him any opportunity to be sent to the wall. He was determined to make an example out of him to other corrupt officials and would-be embezzlers. Two dozen were sent to the wall, while Slynt and three others were hung.

He at least hoped that the corruption and embezzlement would at least be less overt now that Ormund had made it clear that such acts would not go unpunished. He had been appalled to learn that his father knew about it and did nothing, justifying it by saying: "Their replacements could be worse. At least we know how these men behave." Ormund saw it as laziness and apathy, nothing more.

"Wasting your time in Small Council meetings, brother?" Joffrey sneered, leaning against the wall while Sandor Clegane watched the two of them indifferently.

"You're the one who's going to be suffering through them once you're king." Ormund was immediately on guard. When the two of them were little, he and Joffrey were inseparable. Over time, however, their relationship soured. Joffrey was deeply furious over his brother's prowess with a sword and grew even angrier when he defended Tommen and Myrcella from him. That their relationship deteriorated so saddened Ormund, though he did his best not to show it.

"Better you than me." Joffrey laughed. "Father says these meetings are just a waste of time. I've got better things to do."

"Yeah, clearly." Ormund rolled his eyes and sighed. "What do you want, brother? Not that I mean to take up your apparently-so-precious time, but surely you've got better things to do than make snide remarks."

"Mother wants you to get ready; father's deciding to take us to Winterfell." Joffrey explained. "She says I'm supposed to marry the older Stark girl."

"Hey, congratulations." Ormund responded with surprising sincerity. "You'll finally have a woman!" He had offered once to take his brother to one of the brothels as a bonding exercise, but Joffrey had merely sneered and declined.

"I just hope she's beautiful, that father isn't setting me up with some ugly hag." Joffrey complained. "Or worse, a woman who whines all the time; I can't stand such wailing!"

"Come on, Joffrey, you know father's taste in beautiful women." Ormund encouraged. "I promise: when you see her, she'll be the most beautiful girl in the realm." He had no guarantee of that, but knew Joffrey will have long forgotten those words by the time they reached Winterfell.

"She better be!" Joffrey pouted. Having no more patience for his brother, Ormund walked off. "Hey, don't turn your back on me! Don't walk away from me! I'm not done!"

Ormund walked slightly faster, feeling his temper rise. All he wanted to do after the Small Council was take out his frustration on the dummies at the training yard, but it appeared as if he was going on a journey instead. _At least it means I'll be out of this damned city for a while. Winterfell can't be worse than King's Landing._

Fortunately, all of the things he would need for the trip had already been packed and organized by his servants. His father had been talking about visiting his old friend for years, but when Jon Arryn died, Ormund knew that it was inevitable.

However much he hoped to enjoy a trip to Winterfell, he knew he had to work out at least some of his frustration. Ormund took a detour to the armory and started hacking and thrusting at the first straw dummy he could find, imagining each of them going into the flesh of the Small Council members.

The one he hated and feared the most was Littlefinger. He had been wanting to bring him down from the moment he first started sitting in on Small Council meetings, having an inkling that he was much more corrupt than anyone suspected. Unfortunately, Petyr Baelish was also very good at covering his tracks and the one woman who appeared willing to speak against him died under suspicious circumstances just a day afterwards.

When using a sword was no longer satisfying enough for him, he charged the dummy, tearing it apart piece by piece. Ormund tore the breastplate off and proceeded to punch and kick the strawman until small pieces was all that was left of it. He finished by stomping on the breastplate a couple more times before returning to the armory and all but throwing the sword on the closest table.

Ormund was still in a bad mood, but it did help to work out some of his frustration.

He sometimes believed, half-jokingly, that his father should have married Ned Stark instead of his mother; they'd have been a much happier couple. Ormund had a lot of difficulty believing Stark could truly be this great, honorable man, considering he had spent his life in King's Landing.

He kept a way eye as he rode through the streets of King's Landing. Ormund had made it a point to be at least on cordial terms with the commoners, but being a Prince made him a walking target and thus, he watched them carefully.

"So why exactly are you coming along, Uncle Imp?" Ormund waved once he noticed Tyrion in the Royal procession. Instead of a horse, his uncle had chosen to simply sit in a carriage, something far more comfortable for him.

"I'm just sightseeing, nephew; don't mind me." Tyrion nodded. "I've always wanted to see the North and what better opportunity than with one of my favorite nephews?"

"You mean your favorite nephew…" Ormund joked. When he was younger, he had been terrified of his Uncle Tyrion. His mother hated him and warned to always be careful around Tyrion, that no dwarf could be trusted and especially not him.

"Don't let Tommen hear you say that…" Tyrion pointed out. As Ormund grew older, he started to fear Tyrion less. It had taken some time, but he had finally won the boy over and indeed, Tyrion had become his favorite uncle.

"Well, you're welcome to come along." Ormund stated. "Just keep a low profile for your favorite nephew."

"You know, the first time I heard that joke, I was mildly amused." Tyrion rolled his eye. "The tenth time, I could tolerate it… but after hearing it hundreds of times, I don't even bother to listen. I'm disappointed; I thought I thought you to come up with some better insults and yet that's all you have."

"I'm a fan of the classics," Ormund joked. He knew he was badly outmatched when it came to a battle of wits with his uncle, but that didn't stop him from trying anyway. "Besides, we both know the real reason you're coming along: I've heard the brothels up there are extraordinary."

"Hmm… not too bad." Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Now I do believe that you're needed at the head of the procession. Best head up there before your mother decides to take my head." Hoping that was hyperbole, Ormund instructed his horse to move up to meet his mother.

However, his father had not yet arrived in spite of everything being prepared. Ormund was annoyed, but not particularly surprised. "Where have you been?" His mother asked him with an annoyed sigh.

"I was dealing with Small Council business," Ormund explained diplomatically, not wanting her to know of the near-tantrum that he had thrown afterwards.

"You shouldn't spend your time in that pit of vipers; you're too young for it." His mother responded. "Ormund: when we get to Winterfell, don't believe what your father says. Ned Stark is not trustworthy and cares only for power." His mother hated him as much as his father loved him.

"So where is Father?" Ormund decided to change the subject before she went off on a tangent about him.

"Your father is still getting everything ready for our journey." She responded through gritted teeth, her hands going red from gripping the reins tightly. By that she meant he was still visiting the brothels and had not yet deigned to show up.

Ever since Jon Arryn had died, his father had done little else but visit whores, drowning his grief in wine and women. He had cared even less about running the realm than he had before, something Ormund hadn't imagined possible.

Whenever he looked at his father, Ormund was grateful that he was the second-born son. He knew he was one of the very few in King's Landing that had no desire to sit upon the Iron Throne. Seeing what being King had done to his father, he was happy to be away from it, not wanting the same fate to befall him. Robert had been a handsome man once, but his behavior had taken its toll.

He'd never say it, not to anyone, but ever since he began sitting in on Small Council meetings, Ormund's opinion of his father had steadily dropped. His father was strong, charming, and smarter than most in King's Landing gave him credit for. If he had made more effort into ruling instead of tourneys and feasts, Westeros was in much better shape.

 _If I was king, I could change that._ But he never would be. Most of the time, he was grateful for that, but every so often upon seeing the scale of the city's corruption, Ormund wished that he had been the first-born instead of Joffrey.

"Why are we even bothering to visit these savages?" Joffrey sneered, glaring at his younger brother. "They aren't worth our time."

"My son, it is important to know everything about the realm that you will one day rule." Cersei explained. She leaned towards his ear and whispered: "Yes, they are savages, but all the more dangerous on account of that."

"There's a gorgeous woman up there waiting to marry you, that's why." Ormund interjected. "Just keep that in mind when you see the countryside." He gave Joffrey a brotherly slap on the shoulder. "I'm looking forward to it myself."

"Well… I suppose it isn't all bad." Joffrey grudgingly conceded.

"That's the spirit!" Ormund exclaimed with a laugh, sounding more similar to his father than ever.

After what seemed like an eternity, his father arrived, his clothes rumpled and unless he was badly mistaken, had a few tears in them. "Good to see you finally arrive, Father." Ormund did his best to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"It'll be good to see Ned again," Robert smiled, something Ormund had only rarely seen in his life. The few times he had seen his father truly alive was when he spoke of Ned Stark and their childhoods at The Vale. "Jon Arryn… I've scarce seen a man fall apart so rapidly."

"Husband… are you sure he is a suitable match for the office?" Cersei asked, and this was far from the first time they had quarreled over this. "You have not seen him for many years; perhaps you could reappoint my father as Hand of the King…"

"I've made my decision, woman!" Robert snapped at her. "Cease your chattering! I'm already surrounded by Lannisers! I do not want another!"

"What is it like at the North, father?" Myrcella asked innocently.

"It's a place you'll freeze your asses off even in summer, but it's also a lot more welcoming than you might think." Robert laughed.

"I'd love to see a direwolf!" Tommen declared with a smile. "They exist up in the north, right? It's said they can grow to the size of horses and kill a dozen men at once!" Ormund felt that was little more than myth. They were impressive, certainly, but they had not been seen south of the Wall for over a century. More than likely, they were simply stories to terrify young children.

The farther the Royal Procession traveled from the city, the more Ormund's spirits lifted. Tommen was even more eager than his older brother, while even Joffrey was able to crack a smile now and again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Robb Stark waited in the procession alongside Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, waiting for King Robert Baratheon to arrive. Only Theon Greyjoy appeared unconcerned with his trademark smirk.

To his right was Jon, with his head down doing everything in his power not to attract attention. Robb was well aware that his mother was unhappy about having his brother (Half-brother, technically, but Jon would always be a brother to him) among the ones that greeted the king. Although they refused to bicker in front of their children, Robb had heard the two of them arguing in their bedchamber long into the night. In the end, however, his mother relented and allowed Jon to be at the welcoming party.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya wondered, eager to catch a glimpse of one of the most infamous Lannisters.

"Shut up, Arya!" Sansa snapped at her, worried that she would end up embarrassing the entire family with her antics. Their mother gave them a stern look, not wanting any of them to embarrass their family in front of the king.

Robb looked at the King with more than a little surprise. This was the man that his father had described as "Muscled like a maiden's dream", stating that women swooned over him, the strongest warrior in all of Westeros? All he saw was a fat man with multiple chins, dragging along an unhappy wife with their children waiting behind them.

"You got fat." Ned remarked with a small smile. The entire courtyard waited nervously to hear what he would say in response.

"It's great to see you again, old friend!" Robert exclaimed with a laugh, lifting Ned over a foot off the ground with little effort.

"Winterfell is yours, Your Grace." Ned bowed to the king.

"And you're looking as lovely as ever, Lady Catelyn." Robert smiled at her warmly. "I could swear you have not aged a day since the last time I saw you."

"I thank you, Your Grace." Catelyn curtseyed.

Robb witnessed the King's children climbing out of their carriages, although one of them had been writing a horse. "And this is my oldest son, Joffrey." Robert introduced a boy over six feet tall. Beside him was a slightly younger man, a couple inches shorter but much more solidly built.

"Take me to the crypts, Ned." The king interrupted his thoughts. "I'd like to pay my respects."

"We have been riding for a whole month, my love." The queen informed her. "Surely we could use some time to recuperate before…"

"Quiet, woman!" The king snapped, leaving the entire Stark family stunned. Robert said nothing further and marched down to the crypts, leaving the queen to storm off in restrained fury.

"I see there's no love lost between them." Jon remarked. Robb could hardly believe his eyes. He knew not all husbands and wives loved each other as his parents did, but he had not expected that the King of all people would behave in such a way, especially in front of the entire royal procession.

"Such a pleasure, my lady." Joffrey greeted Sansa, bending down to kiss her hand. She immediately giggled and blushed, while Arya rolled her eyes and fumed privately. Robb took an immediate dislike to him, and not just because of attempting to protect his younger sister. It was difficult to explain, but he saw something behind Joffrey's smile, something he found worrisome. "My brother was right; you truly are beautiful."

"Wow… he's even more handsome than I imagined." Sansa practically beamed with joy.

"He doesn't look like the King's son at all." Arya whispered to him. Robb kept silent but privately agreed. Had the king not introduced him as his son and heir, he would never have imagined that the two of them were related to each other.

"You must be the Starks I've heard so much about." Robert's second son extended his arm, Robb taking his hand after a brief hesitation. "The name is Ormund Baratheon, named after my grandfather."

"Where's the Imp?" Arya burst out, no longer able to restrain her patience.

"Arya!" Sansa screamed at her sister, mortified. However, Ormund was chuckling to himself.

"My Uncle Tyrion will be along shortly." Ormund explained. "He decided to take a little… detour while Lord Stark and my father reminisce." Theon Greyjoy gave a knowing smirk at it, fully aware of his reputation. "Word of advice: never engage the man in a battle of wits, for you'll surely lose."

"I will of course keep that in mind." Robb responded politely. He'd heard plenty about the Imp of Casterly Rock, little of it good.

"Lady Sansa, you have your mother's beauty." Ormund bowed slightly and kissed her hand.

"You are of course too kind." Sansa managed to mumble out, still smitten with Joffrey. "What is it like in the capital?"

"I'll have to answer your questions later." Ormund sighed. "It has been a long journey, but I never thought that the North was so… massive. Yes, I've seen it on a map, but it's not the same as experiencing it for yourself. And snow! In the summer! How do you survive the winters here?"

"We're a hardy lot." Robb responded with an edge of steel behind it. He wasn't sure about Ormund just yet. He appeared better than Joffrey, but both of them were still strangers to the other.

"And is this your brother?" Ormund inquired, his eyes wandering towards Jon.

"Our half-brother…" Sansa responded haughtily. Arya kicked her in the shin in response.

"Your bastard brother." Ormund nodded. For Robb, this would be the moment of truth. Was the King's second son a decent man or was he simply a younger version of Joffrey? "I must say, your father is a much better man than most who reside in King's Landing." He extended his hand towards Jon as well.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Jon was more than a little surprised to even be acknowledged by the king's second-born, let alone the lack of derision that he had become accustomed to all his life.

"Call me Ormund, at least while I'm visiting your home." Ormund instructed. "I've got enough kiss-ups to endure at court; I don't need more."

"You honor us with your visit, Your… Ormund." Jon corrected in time, though the Prince still rolled his eyes in response.

"What can you do with a sword?" Robb asked, interested in testing his skills against the Prince. He was grateful he had accepted his older brother, at least on the surface, but was still a little wary around him.

"I'm pretty good, at least according to Ser Barristan." Ormund smiled for the first time. "I actually prefer a bastard sword myself. It gives you the reach and power of a greatsword, while being far easier to control and far less exhausting. And you?"

"How about your brother, the Crown Prince?" Sansa interjected. "I'm sure he's the best with a sword! Tell me, how great is he?"

"Well… he's definitely got a reputation." Ormund smiled.

"My… brother is better than me, though." Robb found it a bit difficult to admit, but he couldn't deny the truth. "There's few who can match him in the yard at Winterfell. Many refuse to spar with him, so I'm the one that ends up being his chew toy. With your permission, perhaps we can spar as well once you and your family have a chance to rest after your journey."

"I admit, I would prefer a hunting trip, giving me more time to see this land of yours." Ormund responded. "However, if you think you've actually got a way to defeat me, you're welcome to try." An arrogant smirk marred his features. "But first, as a Prince, I'd like to see Winterfell, everything in the castle."

"I think that can be arranged." Robb agreed. And it would allow him to keep a close eye on Ormund. _Perhaps he's not so bad after all._

XXXXXXXXXX

Now things are finally starting to get interesting. At the moment, I've got roughly 40 chapters planned out for this week. Circumstances change of course, but that's the current estimate. As always, please review!


	4. Sparring

Arya's stitches were crooked again, causing her to throw the embroidery down in sheer frustration. Even with her low standards, she was forced to admit the work was poor. She hated it and only endured it because there was no other choice in the matter. Even standing in line waiting for the King's arrival was a paradise compared to this.

Sansa, of course, got it just right, with not a single mistake to be found. She braced herself for the usual praise that would be thrown her sister's way. "Excellent work as always, Lady Sansa." Septa Mordane smiled at her old sister.

"You are too kind," Sansa smiled in response, trying to act humble when Arya knew that she was anything but. All her friends were chattering and laughing, saying that it was the best that they had ever seen.

"And now Lady Arya, let us see what you have created…" Septa Mordane turned to her, Arya's heart full of dread. She prayed to the gods that it would at least be considered acceptable, even if it would never be up to Sansa's standards. Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel were smirking at her, anticipating Mordane's critique.

She stayed silent for a few moments while she looked it over, Arya's concerns growing and growing. "It's a slight improvement, but I expect much better from a girl your age." Mordane finally declared. "I expect more effort of you, not a half-hearted one.

"Arya Horseface…" Jeyne Poole whispered just loud enough for Arya to hear her. All the other girls giggled and laughed to each other… even Sansa. In fury, she threw the embroidery across the room and would have charged at Jeyne had Septa Mordane not intervened.

"Arya… a lady does not start fights." Mordane chastised.

"Did you see…" Arya sputtered but knew it was pointless. Septa Mordane ever never noticed the comments the other girls made towards her or didn't care.

"Arya, I expect far better behavior from you." Mordane lectured. "You are eleven years old, far too old to be behaving like a wild animal. Try again… and I don't want to hear any more excuses from you." She ended with a sigh, accustomed to dealing with the behavior of Ned Stark's younger daughter.

Shame burned into Arya's face. She hated it here! She hated needlework, hated Septa Mordane, hated the smirks of the other girls. Most of all, she hated Sansa, with the endless adulation that she received, and how, no matter how hard she tried, Arya's work would never be good enough.

The only reason she did not throw the thing at Sansa and flee the room was the knowledge that it would only make them laugh harder before she would have to face her brother. Arya didn't fear being beaten-she had many scrapes and bruises from exploring the castle- her father had never laid a hand on any of them. His cold disappointment cut far deeper than any beating would.

She continued to work on the embroidery, each time imagining it to be Sansa's face. When the other girls tormented her, Beth and Jeyne and all the other bitches, Sansa did nothing. Sometimes she sat silently and listened; sometimes she even joined in.

Finally, finally, it was over and she was free. Arya burst out of the room before any of the other girls had even gotten up. She was free as a bird, free to enjoy yourself, do what she enjoyed…

"Hello, Arya." Ormund interrupted her with a small smile. "Enjoying running around the castle?"

"What are you doing here?" Arya wondered, a little crossly.

"Exploring Winterfell for myself without your brothers leading me around." Ormund explained. "I must say, your home is very welcoming. Not like the capital at all. What are you doing?"

"Finally done with my needlework lesson," Arya sighed, eager to end this conversation and free herself.

"There's the prince!" She heard Beth Cassel exclaim, making Arya glare even harder. All of them were whispering to each other and while Arya was unable to decipher all of it, much of it sounded less than complimentary.

"Lady Sansa, I trust your day is going well." If he made out what they were saying, he gave no sign of it.

"Yes, we just finished our needlework." Sansa smiled. "I can't wait to show Joffrey how well I did!"

"Yes, when you tell him, spare no detail." Ormund raised an eyebrow. "My future good-sister. I hope the two of us will prove to be friends and allies."

"Please tell me: what is King's Landing like?" Sansa gushed, unable to contain her excitement any longer. "I can't wait! And one day, I'll be queen! Me!" Arya stuck her tongue out in disgust.

"Well, since our fathers are having you marry my older brother, you deserve to know the truth." Ormund sighed. "It likely isn't what you want to hear, but it's a combination of a giant pile of shit and a pit of vipers. The city is nothing but liars, corruption, and murderers. Most men and women there are doing little but jockeying for power; a few honest men, but for each of those, there are more cutthroats than can be counted. Don't trust anyone in that city; each of them have their own agenda."

Arya was giggling to herself, but Sansa was utterly appalled. "How can you behave that way?" She demanded. "How dare you swear in front of a lady?"

"I'm the second-born, meaning that I can say and do what the fuck I want!" Ormund announced, all of the girls looking at him in horror and more than a little disgust. "But I'm just trying to warn you what you're going to be in for. I've spent my entire life in that city, and have much more knowledge of the subject. You will be queen, meaning that you will have to play the Game, or they'll eat you alive. If you want to live, I suggest you listen to my advice."

"Lord Ormund… I demand that you leave my presence at once." Sansa was almost shaking with anger and only her lessons kept her from losing her temper entirely. Arya's opinion of him increased substantially. If he could send Sansa into such a fit, he couldn't be all bad.

"Just remember: you'll be the one to pay the price if you don't heed my words." Ormund warned. "If you have any other questions about the capital, you know where to find me." He walked off, shaking his head. Sansa was furious and Arya was doing everything she could not to break out in laughter.

"Can you please the nerve of that… boy?" Sansa fumed, refusing to see him as a man.

"So crude…. Nothing like his brother." Jenye sniffed. "He's not even that handsome."

"Hey, I didn't think he was that bad." Arya defended him. If anything, his honesty was refreshing to her.

"Shut up, Horseface!" Jenye glared. "No one cares what you think!" Sansa and the other girls grinned and chuckled.

At that remark, Arya stormed off, unable to keep her tears from flowing. She refused to let any of them see weakness; that would only encourage them more.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jon had been relegated to the sidelines on what was supposed to be a private sparring match between them and Ormund. Instead, there were over a hundred men witnessing the spectacle, mostly Lannisters. Even the Queen had decided to make her attendance known.

Not that it would have mattered, in his case. As a bastard, he was forbidden to participate, told that any blows the Princes took would have to come from trueborn swords. Ormund appeared genuinely apologetic, but Joffrey was openly laughing. _By the Gods, my sister's going to be married to that?!_ Jon was not close with Sansa, who often displayed the contempt for him that Lady Catelyn did, but it did not mean that he wished any harm to befall her. The more he learned about the Crown Prince, the lower his opinion of him became.

A tap on his shoulder made him jump, spotting a small person wearing a helm. It took a moment before he realized that it was Arya. "What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Needlework is boring, so I came out to watch the fight." Arya explained. "I didn't want to listen to Septa Mordane lecturing me, or Sansa's attitude! She's so perfect, just because her work is better than mine!"

"I'm sorry, Arya." He was closest to Arya, perhaps even closer than he was with Robb. Neither of them fit in Westerosi society, forming a bond of mutual experiences as a result. "Here, I'll give you a bit of room. Just try to be quiet so the others don't recognize you."

"Why aren't you out there fighting?" Arya inquired, completely ignoring Jon's effort to keep her from being noticed. "You're the best swordsman I know! You should be out there, teaching those Lannisters a thing or two!"

"As a bastard, I am not allowed to enter the training yard when someone important, particularly the Princes, are involved." Jon explained, only barely paying attention to the match between Joffrey and Robb.

"I want to be out there, learning how to use a sword, not playing with needles!" Arya complained. "It isn't fair! I don't want to be a lady!"

"Bastards get the swords but not the arms." Jon informed her. "Ladies receive the arms but not the swords. I did not make the rules little sister." Arya pouted and glared, but said nothing. However unhappy the two of them were about their circumstances, both knew that there was little they could do to change it.

"You could take five of him!" Arya declared with a laugh. That might have been crude, but not inaccurate. The Crown Prince had proven to be a rather poor swordsman, with Robb handily defeating him every time. Joffrey had only managed to tap Robb a couple of times and that was more due to luck than any skill on his part.

"I get tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword." Joffrey announced, waving the blunt blade around.

"You took more swats than you give, Joffrey." Robb pointed out in an effort to be polite, although his eye rolls did not go unnoticed.

"I'm a little curious as to what you're capable of myself and yet my older brother doesn't want me to join the fun." Ormund declared in an effort to keep the tone light. He might have won Robb over, but he still didn't care much for the Prince's brother. "This was, after all, my party."

"I have a new challenge for you, Stark: live steel!" Joffrey exclaimed.

"Done!" Robb agreed immediately. Ormund headed to his brother's side and whispered in his ear. Jon couldn't help but think the Crown Prince was massively overestimating his abilities.

"I am ten times the swordsman he'll ever be!" Joffrey yelled in fury. "He's only won because I let him! Live steel, Stark? Or are you too craven to face me again?" Jon had a difficult time seeing from this distance, but he could swear that Ormund was rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

"There will be no live steel in this training yard." Rodrick Cassel intervened before things could get any worse. "There will be time for that when they are older."

"I wasn't aware you were in the habit of coddling children." The hound scoffed. "I killed my first man at 12. I promise you, it was not with a training sword!" Howls of laughter came from the Lannister men and the queen.

"Come and see me when you're older, Stark." Joffrey gave a sarcastic wave, the Lannisters howling with laughter.

Robb scowled and for a moment, Jon thought his brother was going to charge him. "The prince is a little shit…" Arya whispered in his ear.

"Aye, he is at that…" Jon agreed.

"Well, if you've had your fun, I'd like to see what he's capable of myself." Ormund was clearly unhappy about Joffrey interfering, even if he wasn't willing to attack his brother in front of an audience. "Robb, they say the Northerners are formidable warriors; show me."

"As… as you wish, my Prince." Robb nodded, still struggling to get control of his anger.

"I trust you can spare a training sword for me as well." Ormund turned to Ser Rodrik. Upon receiving one, he waved it around for several moments to get a fell for the blade.

"Now this I want to see…" Jon admitted. Knowing that Arya would be deterred by coming with him, he bent down to her and said: "Just keep your helmet on. Your mother would be furious if she found out I allowed you out here."

Robb and Ormund circled each other for a few moments as they sized each other up. The instant the match began, it was apparent to everyone that Ormund was a far superior swordsman to Joffrey.

Cheers and jeers came from both the Starks and Lannisters, but neither took any notice of it. Robb was pushed on the defensive, driven back over a dozen steps, nearly tripping over the Lannisters. Ormund was fast and strong, frequently feinting to keep his opponent unbalanced. A few moments later, he swung his foot and dragged him to the ground, the Lannisters cheering and Cersei beaming with pride.

"You do live up to your reputation." Ormund complimented, extending a hand to Robb, who took it after a couple moments of hesitation. "I thought you had me for a moment there."

"Damn… I was looking forward to knocking you into the mud." Robb panted. "You fought well, my prince."

"Just Ormund; I hear enough bullshit titles at the Capital." Ormund shook his head. "Luckily for me, my brother wasn't around to see me being beaten, which appears to be more than I can say." His eyes wandered over at Jon and unless he was badly mistaken, Ormund recognized Arya, though he said nothing to confirm it.

"Jon, what are you doing here?" Robb jumped in surprise. "And…" Jon hastily shut him up, not wanting to get Arya into any more trouble than she was already likely to be in once all of this was over.

"The answer to that seems to be obvious." Ormund snarked. "Jon, correct?" He was surprised that the Prince did not use his bastard name.

"Yes, My… Ormund." Jon acknowledged.

"Your brother told me you're his superior when it comes to swordsmanship." Ormund declared. "Show me!" Where there was jeers from the Lannisters before, now there were open mutterings and even the Northmen appeared hesitant.

"Are you sure about this, My Prince?" Ser Rodrick asked. "Jon Snow is a skilled fighter, but also a bastard and…"

"A bastard he may be, but Robb informed me that his brother is the superior swordsman of the two of them." Ormund cut him off before he could say any more. "Moreover, I am the one issuing the challenge, not him, so his birth is not an issue here."

"I only hope that I can give a decent showing." Jon was indeed superior to his brother with the sword but did not possess his confidence. Once he realized that Ormund was genuine in his challenge and willing to overlook his bastard status on this case, Jon refused to back down.

"I'm counting on you to avenge me!" Robb exclaimed to everyone in an effort to entertain the crowd. He turned to Jon and stated: "The Starks are counting on you, brother!"

Jon stepped forward, slightly annoyed at the confident smirk that Ormund was wearing. He had reason, having defeated a skilled swordsman, but Jon promised himself that he would not lose, would not be humiliated in front of the massive crowd. The instant he was allowed, Jon went on the attack immediately, not giving him a chance to catch his breath.

He had sparred with Robb and Theon hundreds of times and knew almost all of their moves by heart. Ormund was different and treating him as simply another sparring match with Robb very nearly led to his defeat within a matter of moments. Only jumping back while parrying a thrust towards his ribs kept him from falling victim to the very same tactic that defeated his brother.

Ormund was a berserker, not giving Jon a moment to catch his breath. He was forced back several feet, moving to the left in order to avoid a blow to the jaw, Jon swinging his sword towards his stomach, putting all of his strength into it. He was nearly doubled over, coughing slightly, allowing Jon to take the offensive.

"You're good, Snow." Ormund managed to gasp out, making a second attempt at a foot sweep, though Jon anticipated as much and moved out of the way, not slowing him down in the least.

"So are you…" Jon complimented, honestly surprised that the Prince was still standing after taking a blow like that. He circled him, in hopes of outmaneuvering Ormund.

Instead, Ormund locked his blade with Jon's and used the opportunity to swing his fist into Jon's face. Both of them were in deadly earnest and had almost forgotten that this was at least intended to be a friendly match.

Spitting blood, Jon feinted to the right, Ormund parrying where he thought Jon was going to go, but caught the deception quickly enough to catch his blade nonetheless. Ormund moved back, allowing Jon to follow him, nearly bumping into one of the crowd members.

Jon saw his sword moved aside and Ormund's practice blade slam him in the shoulder, forcing him to rely less on his sword arm. The two blades moved fast, constantly feinting, the two combatants circling each other. More blows more landed and had this been an unarmored fight, it was likely that they would have been lethal, but none of them were enough to keep their opponent from fighting.

Jon had figured out his fighting style by now and would not be caught off-guard a second time. He aimed a thrust towards his face, one that was deflected, but it was not intended to land. Instead, he lowered his body and swung his sword towards Ormund's legs.

Ormund, instead of attempting to parry with his sword, grabbed Jon's sword arm and twisted his wrist, having realized that he would not be able to move his own sword in time to block the blow. Jon's sword had been stopped barely an inch before the steel would have been slammed into the back of his knee, but now he had his opponent just where he wanted him.

Both of them were rapidly tiring. Jon realized that Ormund was stronger than him so instead of fighting to get his wrist free, he simply smashed his foot on top of his, forcing him to let go. He launched several thrusts towards his belly, forcing his opponent to give up ground before he could recover and fight once more.

Jon knew that if the fight came to a matter of endurance, Ormund would be able to outlast him. Indeed, Ormund's sword was slashing and thrusting towards every part of his body and it was everything he could do to keep him from finishing the fight right then. He bumped into two Lannister men, but had not even felt it in the midst of Ormund's overwhelming attack. He had learned from Jon, aiming for his legs and feet as well as his torso.

Until he had overextended himself a little too much. Jon immediately spotted the opportunity, with Ormund's eyes wide as dinner plates as he realized what was about to happen. Jon's sword slashed his side, sending him staggering, and before he could regain his footing, Jon extended his life and sent him crashing into the dirt, spitting mud.

Both of them were panting heavily and covered in sweat. Ormund scowled, making no move to get up immediately, with the Stark men cheering him for perhaps the first time in his life. "I know you could do it!" Robb exclaimed, his previous defeat having been avenged. Ormund was mortified, his face turning a deep shade of red, leading to chuckles from the Starks and discreetly, from a few of the Lannisters.

Whatever Ormund was about to say in response was cut off by his mother pushing Jon aside and crouching down next to him, looking him over, her hands searching him for injuries. "Are you all right?" Cersei fussed. "Anything broken? I told you this was a bad idea!" The queen's fussing turned the crowd from chuckles into hysterics.

Even Robb joined in at that point and against his better instincts, so did Jon at the sight of the Prince being humbled "Damn it, get off me!" Ormund pushed himself to his feet, removing himself from her grip. Even in his rage, though, he did his best to do so without hurting her. His eyes were livid and he immediately turned on Jon. "SILENCE, BASTARD!" His voice made Jon jump close to a foot. "I promise you: you will regret this!"

He dropped the training sword and stormed off, howls of laughter behind him.

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Well, I did warn you that he wasn't going to be the perfect prince. Hopefully, I succeeded in portraying both the swordfight and reaction accurately. As with the previous chapters, reviews are always appreciated.


	5. Exposure

Okay, to answer some of the questions reviewers have asked me about everyone's behavior: Yes, Robb and Jon mostly behave honorably, but they're still teenage boys and thus, inclined to laugh at other people's misfortunes. They're still summer children at this point of the story.

With Ormund, he hasn't just been beaten; he's been humiliated. Not only did a large crowd see him lose the match, they also witnessed his mother fussing over him and making a scene. A boy his age is going to react well to his mother treating him like a child in public, to put it mildly.

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With the sounds of the feast surrounding him, Jon simply ate his meal and did his best not to call attention to himself. He didn't feel particularly like celebrating at the moment. He looked up at where his siblings were, sitting at the table alongside the King and Queen. However, he had been relegated to the squire's table where minor nobles and smallfolk socialized.

While he had hoped to be able to sit at the table with the rest of his family, Lady Catelyn had raised enough of a fuss to where his father decided not to argue with her. Ned Stark was unable to withstand her anger for very long, especially when she dug her feet in. Jon didn't think the king would care that much, considered how many bastards he had been rumored to sire of his own.

He wasn't the only one who was miserable. The queen looked deeply angry, and only smiled when her twin brother, primarily known as the Kingslayer, whispered something into her ear. The king was busy laughing at every bawdy joke being told, flirting with the serving girls and scarcely able to keep his hands off them.

"It's true what they say: northern women are the most beautiful in Westeros!" The king laughed, arising a cheer from those who were still conscious enough to register his words. Cersei was sitting there with a forced grin on her face. Despite being a Lannister, Jon did feel a certain amount of sympathy for her. He'd have never treated his wife that way.

The unhappiest of all, however, was Ormund. Jon hadn't spoken a word to Robert's second son since their ill-fated sparing match. He had spent the entire feast sulking and glaring, gulping down as much beef as the servants could obtain for him. _Yet I don't see him touch alcohol,_ That was rather unusual for men in Westeros, especially those close to his age.

When they had initially met, he was hoping that the two of them could become friends when it seemed that Ormund didn't give him grief over his bastard status the way so many others did. After their match, however, he had proven himself to be just as vicious and entitled and his older brother. Jon had been disappointed, but Robb cheered him up, saying that someone who behaved that way wasn't worth their time anyway.

Ormund's eyes wandered towards Jon for a moment. _Yes, that's right; I kicked your ass and I can do it again._ Such thoughts were petty and vengeful, but Jon had not yet gotten over his grudge. Much of it made little sense; Lady Catelyn did worse to him every day, but it was Ormund's behavior that he couldn't move past.

"Come on, Snow." Theon urged, handing him a pint of ale. "Since your royal highness is slumming it with the rest of us, you might as well have a drink."

"Oh, shut up, Theon." Jon rolled his eyes but accepted. He had never gotten truly drunk before but perhaps this was the perfect time for such an experience.

"They're beginning to fall unconscious, so it's getting boring in here." Theon smirked. "If you're up for it, there should still be some girls at the brothel. I'll even buy you one if it'll cheer you up."

"How many times do I have to tell you: no." Theon asked Jon at least once a week and always received the same answer. Jon was positive that the offer wasn't genuine and only meant to rile him. While Robb and Theon were closer, Jon did not share a similar bond with him. They didn't hate each other, per se, but they frequently got on the other's nerves.

"Come on, Snow, live a little." Theon laughed, then leaned close. "Or perhaps it's not girls that you're interested in…"

"Enough!" Jon snapped, making Theon laugh even harder. He was no sword-swallower! He would never participate in something so vile! Jon gulped down close to half his pint, surprised at the taste. It hadn't yet affected him, but it was quite a pleasant sensation. "Uncle Benjen!"

"Jon, it's good to see you!" Benjen wrapped his nephew in a bear hug. Benjen was three years younger than his father and had joined the Night's Watch shortly after Robert's Rebellion. Over that period of time, he had moved up through the ranks until he had become the First Ranger.

The only joy that he did have for the festivities was that his Uncle Benjen had returned for a visit. Perhaps this time he would allow Jon to take the black. He had been asking for the past three years, ever since it had truly dawned on him what his bastard status would truly mean. No honors, no titles, likely even no land to call his own… a member of the Night's Watch sounded vastly preferable to that.

Ghost placed his head on the bench, eager for more food. He was only a couple months old, yet it seemed like he had doubled in size over that length of time. "All right, all right…" Jon rolled his eyes, discretely feeding his direwolf another chicken leg.

"I see you've managed to find yourselves some new companions." Benjen smiled, looking down at his Direwolf.

"I named him Ghost because he never makes a sound." Jon informed. "And he's white; all the others were black or grey." He told Benjen the entire story of how the Stark children obtained their direwolves.

"I see them on my explorations north of the Wall, but this is the first I've heard of them down south." Benjen bit his lip in concern. "My brother does not seem very happy tonight."

Not for nothing was Jon considered to be the truest of Ned Stark's sons in despite his bastard status. He appeared like his father, more so than his true-born children, and brooded much like Jon had developed a reputation for. While the King got intoxicated, beer dripping from his beard, his father simply sat there in stony silence.

"Will you allow me to come with you to the Night's Watch?" Jon all but pleaded with his uncle. "I'm sixteen! I'm a man grown and among the best swordsman in Winterfell!" He wasn't worried about being overheard. The noise was such that nobody could hear what was going on more than a few feet around them, assuming they were sober enough to even notice.

"Jon, perhaps we should speak privately." Benjen suggested instead of answering him directly. He gestured with his arm and beckoned Jon to follow him. Theon was occupied charming one of the serving girls, not even noticing his absence. Ghost followed his master obediently, although he briefly paused to gulp down a morsel of food that had dropped onto the floor.

Once they were outside, Benjen sighed and told him. "Jon, the Wall is a hard life and you've been asking me this every time I come to visit Winterfell. You could use a man like you, but I'm not convinced you've truly considered what you'd be giving up. No wives, no children, no lands… it's a difficult world. My first couple years seemed unbearable to be and I was twenty when I joined."

"Father will let me go; I know he will!" Jon insisted. He refused to let his uncle's words of caution sway him.

"Have you ever known a woman?" Benjen asked. "Until you have, you cannot truly understand what you would be giving up. It's more than I can truly put into words, Jon. This isn't a decision you should make lightly, just because your life is difficult here."

"There's nothing for me here." Jon shook his head.

"You have more than you believe, nephew." Benjen decided to try a new approach. "We do need good men, however. Take the night to think about it, and if you're still insistent upon going, I will allow you to accompany me and you can decide with your own eyes whether this is truly the path you want to take." He clapped Jon's shoulder with his right hand. "Until then, there's a feast awaiting you." He walked back inside, leaving Jon to his thoughts.

None of his words dissuaded him. However much he loved his family, there was little future for him in Winterfell. Lady Catelyn made her contempt and hatred for him clear every single day and Sansa looking down her nose at him was little better. At the Night's Watch, he could accomplish something great, defend the realm, prove himself.

"Wow… I didn't think anyone was actually stupid enough to volunteer to be a member of the Night's Watch." Ormund announced behind him, making Jon jump. Whatever hopes he had that the two of them would get along had been dashed during their sparring match and the Prince's mockery only added fuel to the fire.

"What do you know about it?" Jon all but shouted, heedless to the fact that it would be unwise to make an enemy out of a Prince, even if he was the second-born. "And what are you doing out here?"

"Quite a bit more than you, apparently." Ormund shrugged. "I can't say I've ever been there myself, but I have sent dozens of people to the Wall. Criminals and scumbags, all of them, as an alternative to death. Some of them have chosen death over the wall."

"The Night's Watch is an honorable profession!" Jon snapped. He had grown up with the stories from Old Nan, how those who took the black defended the realm from its greatest dangers.

"Oh, is that what you were told?" Ormund raised an eyebrow, approaching. Jon was sorely tempted to punch him despite knowing it would land him into a great deal of trouble. "There are some good men on the wall who take the Black, ones that had little to live for. The majority of them however are thieves, rapists, murderers, oath-breakers… occasionally all of the above. Anyone who tries to leave is executed."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" Jon feared Ormund telling the truth more than him simply attempting to get revenge for his humiliation a few hours before. "I have no reason to trust you, not after your actions."

"My actions?" Ormund spat. "I treat you and your brother with courtesy and acceptance and you return it with ridicule and mockery?!" He clenched his fists against his sides, visibly restraining himself from a physical attack. "I don't know why I should have expected better from you or anyone!"

"You promised that I'd live to regret this, despite the fact you were the one who challenged me!" Jon protested. "You threatened me in front of everyone! Just because you couldn't stand to lose!"

"Typical self-serving bullshit that I spend every day dealing with at the capital," Ormund dismissed. "Listen, bastard, when I saw you I decided to give you a bit of honest advice, thinking maybe it would get through your thick fucking skull! But if you want to spend your days freezing your balls off at the wall, I'm not going to protect you from your own stupidity." He stormed off, cursing under his breath.

Was the Prince right? All Jon knew of the wall was what his Uncle Benjen had told him and even he was warning Jon of how difficult being a member of the Night's Watch would be. Since he was at the Capital, Ormund would certainly know about recruits.

He knew the possibility that Ormund was simply lying to him in revenge, which was expected for Southerners. Ultimately, Jon's curiosity got the best of him and he headed back to the feast to find Ormund. _Just keep your temper under control; it isn't like you've never endured this before._ Dealing with the Prince's anger was far easier than Lady Catelyn's contempt.

Much to his surprise, Ormund was hanging around the outskirts, showing no inclination to join everyone else. "Why aren't you at the feast?"

"However unpleasant your company might be at the moment, it's preferable to the current spectacle." Ormund explained. He appeared to be completely sober, unlike just about everyone else at the feast.

"So… is it true?" Jon didn't want to be in his company any longer than he absolutely had to.

"Yeah, it's true, for the most part." Ormund sighed. "As I said before, there are good men up there, but far too many are the scum of Westeros. Had the decision been mine, some of them would have been hung and fed to the dogs. It's up to you if you still want to go, but I believe you deserve to know the whole truth."

"So that's how it really is." The Wall was nothing like the stories he had grown up with: strong, honorable men voluntarily taking the black in service of the realm. Jon still didn't entirely believe Ormund, but he had a sinking feeling that the Prince was telling the truth.

"Look, I don't have the energy to fight with you right now; believe me or don't." Ormund snapped. "And if I truly wanted to get even with you, I'd have let you go to the Wall ignorant and laugh every time I thought about you freezing your balls off in the middle of nowhere."

Jon paused to consider this information. Perhaps he could wait a little while longer, just a few more months. It wasn't as if he couldn't change his mind at a later date. The two of them stood there silently, anger and confusion between them. Perhaps… perhaps he had a role to play in the confrontation as well. Jon had felt great pride in defeating the Prince, but the kind of mockery he displayed had been uncalled for. He had known better; he had been on the receiving end far too many times.

"I apologize for how I behaved at the dueling ring." Jon uttered in an attempt to break the awkward silence. "I should not have laughed when you were beaten; that wasn't sporting of me."

"I suppose… I can accept your apology." Ormund uttered, making it clear that not all the anger over the incident had been evaporated in his eyes. "And I'm sorry for threatening you in front of everyone." He stuck out his hand. "Truce?"

"Truce." Jon accepted the handshake. His anger wasn't gone, either, and to an extent, he still saw Ormund as an arrogant prat. What was meant as a bonding exercise had gone horribly wrong. "So what now?"

"I'm headed back to the party before my mother starts freaking out." Ormund announced. "My Uncle Jaime had to talk out of… of making her displeasure clear at the people who laughed at my defeat." He glowered at that, but Jon decided not to say anything more on that subject. "I leave her sight for five minutes and she starts panicking."

"Yes, you have my utmost sympathy." Jon tried to sound sincere but doubted it had come across as such. Part of his distaste for Ormund, he was forced to admit, stemmed from envy. He had a mother that cared for him, loved him, yet he didn't even know who his mother was. Lord Stark had always been silent on the subject, no matter how many attempts he made to obtain the truth.

"I do love her, but she can be a bit much." Ormund sighed. "I have to say if all bastards were like you, they'd have a much better reputation."

"Thanks, Your… Ormund." Jon responded politely. It had been meant as a compliment, even if it didn't sound that way to his ears. "Enjoy the party."

"I definitely intend to." Ormund had his first genuine grin of the day. "There's a maid there, name of Emily, that seems quite taken with me." He all but skipped away. Jon rolled his eyes in response; he was very much his father's son.

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"Ned Stark! He actually asked Ned Stark to be his hand!" Cersei fumed, while she walked up the stairs with her brother. Most of the castle was still too hung over from the feast to take any notice of them.

"Honestly, sister, don't tell me you're surprised." Jaime would have rolled his eyes had this rant come from anyone else. The instant Jon Arryn died, thankfully before he could reveal what he might have found out, he knew that Ned Stark would be the next Hand of the King.

"Stop being so casual about this!" Cersei hissed into his ear. "Do you have any idea what this will mean for us? Robert loved Stark more than he does his brothers! He'll listen to him! I knew Stark would take it, even though he professes to be honorable." Cersei scoffed at the very thought. "It should have been you, if only he'd have listened to me!"

"I've never cared for the responsibility." Jaime smirked. He'd have made a very poor hand, even if he did care for the duties of it.

"Will you listen to me, Jaime?" Cersei demanded. "Jon Arryn was murdered right before he intended to expose the truth! That means that someone knows about us."

"We've been careful all these years." Jaime could understand his sister's worry, but they'd never been discovered, not in all the years they'd been together. A little caution might have been prudent, but he felt that sometimes she was overly paranoid.

Who did kill Jon Arryn? Jaime admitted he didn't have the slightest idea who had been responsible. It was not a natural death; he was certain of that. The old man certainly had made a lot of enemies, but Jaime would not have lowered himself to use poison. Had murder been required, he would have used his sword, not an underhanded trick.

The instant the door was shut, Jaime pulled Cersei into a passionate kiss. It had been far, far too long since the two of them were together and he was not going to waste a single moment of it.

"Jaime, we can't." Cersei was eventually able to push him away. "What if we're caught? What if someone sees us?"

"Everyone else is still hung over from the feast." Jaime dismissed. "I can't stand it any longer. I can't stand seeing you in the same bed as that… man." He spat the word with loathing. He hated Robert Baratheon and had his sister ever said the word, he would gladly have gutted the man. The thought of him pawing at what was his, the love of his life, his twin, sickened him to his stomach.

His fingers wandered towards her breast, massaging gently. "Jaime, stop being so reckless!" Cersei attempted to admonish, though she was unable to suppress a soft moan.

"Tell me, love: do you want me to stop?" Jaime wore his arrogant smirk. He pulled Cersei to him, his hands slowly undressing her. "Just tell me to stop and I will." Cersei frowned at him but made no further effort to push him away.

He disrobed her carefully, not wanting to leave any evidence of their dalliance. Jaime double-checked the door, making sure it was locked, before cupping her breasts in his hands. Cersei moaned, arching her back. "Don't stop, Jaime…" She was no longer able to resist him, her hands removing his clothes as fast as they could.

He bowed his head, his tongue brushing against her nipple. Jaime wrapped his arm around her waist, Cersei's hands wrapped in his hair. _Mine, mine, mine…_ his brain echoed repeatedly.

He moved between each of her breasts, Jaime's hand moving down her stomach, settling between her legs. He felt Cersei grip him tighter as he removed the last of her clothing. He took as much of her breast into his mouth as he could, teasing her, exciting her.

He raised his head and stared into her eyes, hands on her waist. It didn't matter how many times Jaime saw her this way: to him, Cersei was just as beautiful as she was when this began over twenty years ago. He kissed her hungrily, trying to remove the stench of the man who dared to call himself her husband.

Two of his fingers entered her, rubbing her clit. Cersei's nails dug into his back, scratching him deeply enough to draw a slight amount of blood. "Gods, Jaime…" was all Cersei was able to utter. His manhood was pressing up against her, growing with each moan echoing from her mouth. They hadn't been together during the entire journey. Both of them considered it too risky with the King's presence.

He gently pushed her to the bed, where she was lying there, her legs spread, quivering in anticipation. Jaime hurriedly removed the last of his clothing, standing before her. Cersei's eyes wandered around his body with pure lust, all restraint and forethought removed.

"Jaime…" Cersei whispered as he prepared to enter her. "Jaime!" He had briefly mistaken his sister's voice of panic for pleasure. She pointed in the direction of the window, pushing him from her, making him realize that this was no game. Upon doing so, Jaime witnessed one of the Stark's younger sons in the window, eyes wide with shock.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no!_ Jaime shuddered with sheer horror, knowing what this was likely to mean for both of them. Bran was ten years old, old enough to comprehend what he saw and he had yet to meet anyone of that age who was capable of keeping his mouth shut. Not for long, at any rate.

Cersei hurriedly covered herself, but Jaime's mind barely noticed it. He was thinking of what would happen to them when Bran blabbed to his parents. Ned Stark, honorable prick that he was, would surely tell the king. Robert Baratheon despised Cersei and would not hesitate for a moment before killing her, even with the full knowledge that it would bring down Tywin's wrath upon him.

Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella…. All of them would await the executioner's axe. Perhaps even Ormund as well, if Robert got the idea that he was a bastard born of incest as well. Jaime scrambled his brain, trying to think of what to do, but only a single option entered his mind.

Bran had not moved from that spot, though Jaime feared that he might. He was clearly in shock, though he was slowly getting over it. Jaime approached him slowly, not wanting to frighten him away.

"He saw us!" Cersei screamed, understanding the implications even more than her twin.

"I know…" Jaime replied through clenched teeth. "How old are you?"

"Ten." Bran replied simply. He was becoming aware, at least on some level, that he was in danger. Jaime knew that he had to act quickly.

 _For Cersei…._ Jaime thought. "The things I do for love," he spat, pushing Bran out the window with all his might. He did not dare look down to see him fall, not wanting to see the consequences of his actions.

"Jaime, what's going to happen to us?" Cersei's mind wandered between fear and anger as she hastily dressed. "I told you to wait! I told you someone could find us!" She was on the verge of tears as she screamed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Jaime exclaimed, covering his mouth. If his sister continued to scream, then the atrocity he had just committed would have been for nothing. _Kingslayer, child-killer…_ He told himself that it was necessary, that all of them would be executed had he not done what he did. "I should have listened to you, sister. What do we do now?"

"We pretend nothing happened and go about our merry way." Cersei ordered. She had always been the one in control of their relationship. "We give our condolences to his mother and pretend to grieve alongside her." Jaime's would not be an act, which would make the coverup easier.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Jaime groaned, not sure he could stand it inside the room any longer. The two of them dressed as quickly as they could and attempted to appear casual. He had just killed a young child to protect his secret. Jaime doubted it would be the last time he would find it necessary to protect his family.

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Well, Jon and Ormund have sort of reconciled, though I wouldn't expect them to be best buddies. After what happened, I don't think that's in the cards. Neither of them really handled that graciously.

I know some of you were hoping for Bran to be spared, but it was always going to end that way. I'm just hoping the erotic scene wasn't too awkward; this isn't something I have a whole lot of experience writing.

All responses I receive to this chapter are appreciated.


	6. Assassination

I do apologize for the delay. I had meant to post this about a week ago, but I had a difficult time deciding how to end this chapter. I've already completed about 1/3rd of the next chapter, along with a couple scenes from future chapters.

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The first thing Ormund witnessed was Bran being carried into the castle, with the buzzards circling and his direwolf howling in despair. He had been busy practicing with his sword when he headed over to see what the commotion was. Upon asking questions, he learned that Bran had been climbing the Broken Tower and lost his grip, plummeting more than 30 feet onto the ground.

He had tried to offer his condolences then, but the scene was chaotic and Bran's parents were nearly frantic, so he decided to wait. Ormund paced around, waiting for an opportunity.

"Thanks for the support," Jon responded when Ormund had decided to at least give them to his brothers and sisters. "I can't believe it; he was an excellent climber."

"Even the best can make mistakes, I'm afraid." Ormund sighed. "I apologize if this is a bad time, but… you've decided not to go to the Night's Watch after all?"

"Not right now, not when I don't know if my brother will live or die." Jon groaned. "I can always change my mind in the future. Not like the wall's going anywhere."

"If anyone told me he would slip, I would have never believed it." Robb added, unusually somber. "I've never seen anyone who could climb like him."

"Well, you have my prayers for his recovery." Ormund did his best to comfort them. "I can only imagine what I'd be doing if it was any of my siblings in there." He'd have been going ballistic if Tommen or Myrcella were severely injured and he didn't know whether they were going to live or not. Even Joffrey; he often didn't get along with his brother, but that didn't mean he would actually want anything to happen to him.

He spotted his father holding Ned in a bear hug, while the Northern man looked sadder than he'd ever seen him.

"Lady Stark, Lord Stark, you have my condolences for what happened to your son." Ormund informed them, deciding to wait until they were done talking before he spoke up. He could have interrupted them, but he was their guest and decided to be polite.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Ned Stark reacted, looking very unlike the powerful figure he had seen when he first arrived at Winterfell.

"Thank you for your kindness," Catelyn Stark added.

"Is Bran going to live?" Ormund worried. He knew people generally didn't survive falls from such a height and if they did, they would never be whole again. He looked over at Bran, not moving a single muscle.

"Time will tell, but I am cautiously optimistic." Maester Luwin declared. "If he does live, however, the boy is likely to be a cripple. I do not believe that he will ever walk again." Catelyn sobbed even harder at those words.

Ormund stood there for a moment, attempting to think of what to say. There was still no guarantee that Bran would live, and whatever goals he had likely weren't going to happen now. "Lady Stark, Lord Stark… even if he may never become a knight as he hoped, there's still a lot he will be able to accomplish. He possesses a sharp mind and you don't necessarily need martial skills to rise high here."

"Your Grace, I appreciate your words." Ned sighed, unable to keep his eyes off his son. "If you will please excuse us, we would like a few moments alone with him."

"Is there anything I can get for him?" Ormund wondered, hating the sight of him so helpless. He only prayed that Bran wasn't in any pain while he was unconscious. "Water, food, medicine? I'm no maester, but I'll do what I can."

"Thank you for your offer, but Maester Lewin is quite competent." Catelyn gently rebuffed him, looking about ready to fall apart.

"If there is anything I can do, please let me know." Ormund decided to give them what they wanted. "And again, I am deeply sorry for what happened." He closed the door behind him, deciding to give the Starks whatever privacy he could.

"I told him! I told him not to climb on those walls!" Catelyn stark wailed before he was able to walk more than a few feet away. "I told him a hundred times to get down, but he never listened!" She was screaming so loudly that it was likely half the castle could hear her. "I should have tried harder, should have done more."

"Can't blame yourself, Cat." Ned's voice was far quieter and Ormund had a lot more difficulty making out his voice.

"What if he dies?" Catelyn cried, and from the other side, it sounded as if she was clutching onto her husband.

Knowing that sticking around any longer would lead to uncomfortable circumstances, Ormund departed. Whatever hope there was about the trip to Winterfell turning into a pleasant stay had disappeared with Bran's accident. He didn't blame Bran for not listening to his parents; he almost never listened to his mother when she worried about his various actions throughout King's Landing. _I know how to take care of myself._ He brushed off her worries, thinking that nothing would really happen to him. Of course, Bran no doubt thought the same thing.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed Joffrey storming past him, on the brink of an explosion like he seemed to be more and more. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two red marks on Joffrey's face. Sandor Clegane walked alongside him like always, rolling his eyes.

"So what's wrong with my brother?" Ormund asked the first relative he saw, which turned out to be his Uncle Tyrion.

"He didn't feel like expressing his sympathies towards Lord and Lady Stark, so I gently reminded him of his duties." Tyrion explained.

"Somehow, I can't say that I'm surprised." Ormund responded, trying hard not to break out laughing. "He never seems to learn, does he?" Ormund did his best to show him what it meant to be King, but Joffrey had a long way to go.

"Plus, there's also the look on his face." Tyrion smirked. It rapidly turned into a frown. "So is he going to recover?"

"They don't know yet, but he'll never walk again if he does live." Ormund sighed. It was terrible to see someone's life changed that way at such a young age, however frequent an occurrence it might have been.

There was little more he could do at the moment, so Ormund headed to the Great Hall where his siblings, mother, and Uncle were currently residing. He had expected a lively conversation, but instead there was merely silence. The only noise he could hear was the sound of silverware.

"I hope Bran's going to be ok." Tommen remarked, breaking the silence.

"They don't know yet, but it's beginning to look like Bran may live after all." Ormund announced. "Nothing's definite yet, but he's got a fighting chance. Unfortunately, even if he does live, he's going to be a cripple." His Uncle and mother exchanged a brief look, so brief that for a moment, he thought it was just a figment of his imagination.

"That's horrible news." Myrcella twisted her face in concern. "I hoped he'd survive without any damage."

"Life doesn't work that way, I'm afraid." Ormund sighed. His younger brother and sister were both good people, more so than he would have expected in a place like King's Landing. His Mother and Uncle were looking deeply concerned at that, but why? What could they possibly be worried about?

"I expect he'll learn to live with it." Tyrion smiled. "Not a pleasant thing for such a young boy, but assuming he survives, he'll work around it."

"If Lord Stark was good, he'd put him out of his misery." Jaime declared. "Better than ending up as a cripple."

"You can't be serious." Ormund glared at his uncle in surprise.

"If I ended up as one, I'd shove a dagger through my heart." Jaime announced. "You're better off dead than ending up as a cripple."

"Just out of curiosity: would you say the same thing if it was me?" Ormund looked at his mother and Uncle coldly. "If I ended up crippled in a jousting accident, or as a result of war, or an assassination attempt, or just a moment of bad luck, would you agree with that? Would you think that I would be better off dead than a cripple?"

"No, of course not." Cersei immediately backtracked. "You're my son and I'd never want that for you. I'd love you no matter what."

"Or Tyrion?" Ormund was on a tirade and nothing was going to stop him before he had his say. "He's a dwarf. Does that mean he's better off dead, Uncle Jaime?" He didn't look down on his uncle ordinarily unlike much of Westeros, but this attitude for him filled Ormund with disgust. "And I doubt you would follow through with committing suicide if you ever became a cripple. I've heard many men make such a claim, yet few actually go through with it if it impacts them personally."

"We're getting ahead of ourselves." Cersei decided to evade the subject. " None of us yet know whether the boy will truly live or die."

"I hope he lives; he was a lot of fun to spar with." Tommen remarked. "He even taught me a couple tricks!"

"You know, I cannot help but agree with my nephew." Tyrion spoke out in an attempt to lighten the tense mood. "Speaking for grotesques and cripples, death is utterly final. Life, after all, is simply full of possibilities."

"Perhaps we should simply change the subject." Jaime suggested. "Besides, all of this is immaterial until we know for sure." The family fell back into silence, save for the servants replacing their food. Ormund gestured that he wanted to talk to Tyrion privately, leading to he and his Uncle leaving the table. He did his best to ignore his mother's worried stare.

"Uncle Tyrion… I feel I should apologize to you." Ormund sighed. "I should not have dragged you into our quarrel. I was merely unhappy that they felt that Bran would be better off dead than crippled; I doubt he'd agree."

"Not an uncommon attitude in the realm," Tyrion dismissed. "And I agree with you completely. I may be a dwarf, but my mind is as sharp as ever. I wear it like armor."

"Yes, so you've told me on many occasions." Ormund remarked. "I really should know better than to get into a battle of wits with you."

"You provide some entertainment at least, which is more than I can say for most people who attempt." Tyrion smirked. "And I'm quite happy to take advantage of your foolishness."

"So… I wonder whether he really is going to live." Ormund's voice turned serious again. There was something bothering him about this, something he couldn't put his finger on.

"I'm a little more interested in learning what he'll have to say if he wakes up." Tyrion admitted. "It does seem a bit strange that the boy fell despite being so sure-footed."

"A single mistake is all it takes." Ormund shrugged, before realizing what Tyrion was implying. "Wait, are you saying someone…"

"I'm not saying anything, my dear Nephew." Tyrion smiled. "I'm just thinking out loud." He waddled towards the door. "I confess, I was hoping to see the Wall for myself, but since you persuaded Lord Snow not to take the black, I find myself disappointed."

"Oh, I'm sure you can find other ways to entertain yourself." Ormund claimed, pondering his uncle's words. Was it possible that Bran's fell was more than it seemed?

"Of course, but it would be impolite under the circumstances." Tyrion pointed out. "Now the breakfast table is missing our presence and if we stand here any longer, I expect my sister will have my head." Tyrion rejoined the others as if nothing had happened. Ormund did not.

He stood there for a long time, pondering his Uncle's words.

XXXXXXXXXX

"That boy's life is over before it even began." Robert moaned, pouring himself another pint of alcohol. Cersei had retired to her bed, but his children were still around, watching Robert drink himself into a stupor. His mind barely registered Joffrey's brief absence and return.

"Sounds like it'd be better to end it, then." Joffrey suggested. "Better dead than a cripple." Ormund rolled his eyes, wondering if anything could get through his brother's thick head. He, Myrcella, and Tommen were fearful that he might not make it, but Joffrey just appeared bored of the whole thing.

"I'll be sure and remember that if you ever become crippled." Ormund deadpanned, doing his best to tune out his father's drunken rantings. He had spent most of the day with Ned and he was positive that even Robert would never dare say this within Stark's hearing.

"Wouldn't it be at least better if he lives?" Myrcella asked. "If he survives, there are still many things he can do."

"No, no, you don't understand, Myrcella." Robert hiccuped, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder. He was attempting to be gentle, but as intoxicated as he was, he was likely to leave a bruise on her in the morning. "The life of a cripple… no life at all. You can't be a man and be a cripple. Best to simply end it for good, quick and painless." His father was doing little but repeating himself, oblivious to the fact that none of them were listening anymore.

"So you don't think he'd be happier dead?" Joffrey asked his brother, genuinely curious.

"He won't be happy it happened, but I think he'd rather live." Ormund explained. "Jacelyn Bywater lost his sword hand, yet he's still able to live a good life."

"That's true… and I'd probably want to live if I was in his position." Joffrey nodded.

"Would Father really have us killed if we were crippled?" Myrcella wondered, her face turning into a worried frown.

"No, of course he wouldn't." Ormund shook his head, wishing his father would shut the hell up. "Look, I promise you: he's not going to remember a single word of this in the morning. You know how father can get sometimes."

"But what if he did?" Myrcella's worries were not fully assuaged.

"Then I'd protect you!" Tommen jumped in, getting into a fighting stance.

"He'd never do anything like that: Father's just upset about what happened to his best friend's son." Ormund made another attempt. "We're all upset about it; it's a terrible shame." His mother and uncle weren't, however. They pretended to be when the Starks were around, but in private, they were worried about something else. What it was, Ormund had no idea.

"I wouldn't think any less of you if you were." Ormund hugged Myrcella gently, mindful of the developing bruise on her shoulder. That seemed to comfort her when nothing else did. "Go to sleep if you can. Mother's going to wake us all early to return to King's Landing."

"If my legs didn't work, I'd spend all my time reading, using my brain." Tommen tried to look at the positive side.

His siblings had managed to go to sleep, but Ormund was suffering from insomnia. He'd had more than enough of his Father's bullshit and decided not to suffer it any longer. No matter how he tried, though, his brain refused to cooperate with him. Eventually, he gave up the attempt, knowing that he would have a sleepless today tomorrow.

Having little else to do, he decided to explore Winterfell. The first location he walked towards was the broken tower, where the accident occurred. There was still something about Bran's circumstances that didn't seem right. If he was such a skilled climber, how did this happen to him? The tower did not look particularly steep, from what he remembered of it in the daylight. He knew that anyone, no matter how skilled, could make a mistake, but that explanation just didn't 100 percent satisfy him.

Tyrion's words echoed through his head, over and over again. Ormund wasn't sure it was an accident at all, but who could possibly want to kill him? And why? None of it made any sense and the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. Whatever it was, nobody was going to know for sure unless Bran survived, which was still far from a guarantee.

While he had hoped that a walk would help him sleep, that hope had been fleeting. If anything, Ormund was now wide awake with little chance of getting any sleep that night. He wasn't convinced that Bran's fall was an accident… but wasn't convinced that it wasn't either. He prayed it was the former, being that he knew the implications of attempting to murder a member of the Starks.

Almost unconsciously, he wandered back to Bran's bedroom. Ormund dearly wished that there was more he could for him, but his life was in the hands of the Gods now. Unfortunately, the gods were seldom good, so he wasn't especially optimistic about the boy's chances. _What am I even doing here?_ He shook his head at his actions. There was nothing he could do for him, yet remembering his own near brush with death, he had to see if Bran had improved any.

He had not expected to still see Catelyn Stark in the room, fully aware, desperately praying for her son to wake up. Bran had not moved one millimeter from when he saw him last. His direwolf Summer was still laying at his feet. Ormund could hear Catelyn crying softly to herself.

Summer was the first to notice Ormund wandering into the room. The direwolf watched him cautiously, not knowing if he was friend or foe. He moved a single step, pointing his nose at him, making sure he knew better than to try anything malevolent.

Catelyn had yet to move a muscle, staring at Bran with dead eyes. "Lady Stark, what are you still doing up?" Ormund inquired, the sound of his voice making her jump.

"Wha… Your Grace, how can I serve you?" Catelyn went to a single knee. She was hardly recognizable from the woman he had seen just a couple days previous. Her eyes were weary, only staying awake through sheer strength of will. Her clothes were unkempt, makeup nonexistent, and unless he was badly mistaken, she had barely eaten since Bran's accident.

"I was unable to sleep and wanted to check on Bran." Ormund offered by way of explanation. Catelyn continued to watch him with suspicion. "Has his condition improved any?"

"No, he's still the same." By rights, she should have been looking at him, but Ormund decided to let it slide considering the situation. "I'm doing everything I can for him. All I can do now is wait for him to wake up."

"Lady Stark, tell me the truth: have you slept at all since his slip?" Ormund knew the answer but wanted to hear it from her own lips.

"I refuse to miss him when he wakes up." Catelyn declared, her eyes at this point almost completely red. She was running herself completely into the ground. He knew he wasn't going to be able to keep this up much longer.

Bran looked peaceful on the bed. Ormund dearly hoped he didn't feel any pain in his condition. He wasn't entirely convinced that this was an accident, but couldn't come up with any reason to the contrary. "Lady Stark, you're not doing yourself or him any good." He did his best to reason with her. He knew his own mother behaved the same way when she feared for the health of her children.

"He'll wake up and I'm going to be here." Catelyn repeated, just as stubborn as he feared she would be.

"If you're going to continue, at least make yourself some tea." Ormund insisted. "It won't take more than a few minutes and he has his Direwolf protecting him."

Rather than respond, Catelyn turned away and kept her eyes on Bran. Ormund rolled his eyes and sighed when it became clear she wasn't going to listen. "My lady, I don't want to have to make it a command, but I will if I absolutely must." He decided to try a harder approach. "We're only going to be gone for a few minutes and Bran still has his direwolf looking after him."

"As you command, my lord." Catelyn responded politely but her eyes told a different story. She could not resist turning her head one last time to look at her son. She was reluctant to turn away from him even for a moment.

"I do apologize and I would be willing to bring it myself if I knew my way around Winterfell." Ormund attempted to soften the blow. "I have never made tea before, but I would still be willing to make the attempt. If I cannot persuade you to sleep, this should be the next best thing." She'd have been better off with a drop of nightshade, but he did not want to damage her fragile trust.

The kitchens were empty and dark, save for a couple of dim torches. Ormund noted that Lady Catelyn made her own tea rather than wake up servants in the middle of the night to do so. Few in King's Landing would have done the same. The instant she began drinking the tea, he observed a noticeable improvement. She was still exhausted, but no longer on the brink of collapse as she was.

"I… thank you, my lord." Catelyn nodded to him. It was a temporary solution at best, but it was at least something.

"You are quite welcome." Ormund stated. "My mother did the same thing when I was seriously ill. She was just as stubborn as you." He couldn't help but chuckle.

His pleasant reminiscing came to an end when they heard Summer barking. Without speaking a word, Ormund and Catelyn sprinted towards Bran's room. He pulled out a dagger, ready for combat. He had not believed Bran would have been in any real danger, though he was clearly proven wrong.

It was fortunate that he had a good memory, for the instant the two of them walked into the room, there was a cursing man with a dagger in his arm. Summer had grabbed the arm with his teeth, trying his damnedest to drag him to the floor.

Ormund acted on pure instinct, overlooking Catelyn's frenzied scream. Before the man could react, he stabbed the assassin in the throat, not giving him a chance to fight back. He added four stab wounds to ensure that he would not get up again, ending the danger to them.

He grabbed the torch in the room to get a closer look at the assassin. A smallfolk, a young man in rather ill health. No one would have taken any notice of him… until he saw with his own hands what he was carrying. "A Valyrian Steel dagger?" This was becoming more confusing by the minute. How could such a man possibly have gotten hold of such a rare and valuable weapon? _Thank the Gods that Bran is alive at least._ He had sentenced people to death in the past, but it wasn't quite the same as actually killing someone with his own hands.

Once his adrenaline began to wear off, his brain began to register Catelyn's screaming. Ormund looked over at the bed… and breathed a massive sigh of relief that Bran was still alive. "By the Gods…" He had never imagined that the boy was in such danger. That was no accident; he was certain of it. Someone had tried to kill him and had evidently made another attempt.

"My Lord… I don't know how to thank you." Catelyn finally managed to stammer out. "If you hadn't been here, my son would be dead."

"I just did what I thought was right." It seemed a very simple decision. "Look, my Lady, your son may be alive but it was a very close call. I highly recommend you have guards at this room at all times. Whoever tried to kill him will probably try again."

"Yes, of course; I'll do that immediately." Catelyn nodded and it was quite apparent that this had not occurred to her for a moment. That, more than anything, informed Ormund that Winterfell was nothing like King's Landing. The paranoia, constantly checking your back… none of it existed here.

"Yes, do that right now." Ormund all but ordered, watching her rush out of the room. His exhaustion finally began to overcome him and he struggled to stay awake. He rubbed his eyes, while Summer sat by his side and began licking his hand.

On the off-chance that whoever tried to kill Bran had set a contingency plan, Ormund promised to stick around until Lady Catelyn returned. However, the assassination seemed to be the work of a novice, not someone who was skilled in the art of murdering their enemies. A peasant who had likely never held a dagger in his life…

Even in the dim light, Ormund recognized the making of the dagger: Valyrian Steel. "How the hell is this possible?" He muttered to himself. Only a few thousand such blades existed on the entire continent. Even a professional killer wouldn't be carrying such a blade, so how…

Ormund was left with more questions than answers. The great houses of Westeros were the only ones that would be able to do such a thing. But who would be foolish enough to give a peasant a Valyrian steel dagger?

"I hope you'll be able to make some sense of this, Lady Catelyn." Ormund sighed, handing the dagger to her. Tempted as he was to keep it, he was more than capable of using his spies to find out who the dagger actually belonged to. Barely giving the new guards a second glance, he was confident that for the moment at least, Bran would be safe.

Ormund all but sleepwalked back to his bed, his mind too tired to come up with anything else. His last thought before falling asleep was that this was likely to be very, very big.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ok, a relatively happy ending here, but don't expect it to happen every time. This is Westeros and even if it happens to be fanfiction, I want to keep at least some of the feel of GRRMs world.


	7. Departures and Manipulations

Ormund had mixed feelings about leaving Winterfell. On the one hand, even if he despised King's Landing and everything inside it, it was still the only home he had ever known. As a whole, however, Winterfell had seemed much more pleasant. There was something far more authentic about it and its residents. He smelled an air of honesty about it, something that he hardly recognized at first.

Witnessing the Stark family was an even stranger yet more pleasing experience. Eddard and Catelyn Stark genuinely loved one another, something he dearly wished his own parents were capable of. Lord Stark was honest and forthright, an excellent choice for Hand of the King and perhaps an individual who could finally clean up the corruption.

After he saved Bran's life, all of the hostility the Stark siblings felt towards him had immediately evaporated. Jon and Robb treated him as one of their own, the greatest compliment they could give him. Even Sansa had warmed up to him somewhat, though she still considered him too crude for her liking.

He looked over at his Father, who was laughing and wrapping his arm around Ned's shoulder. Ormund's father was happier than he'd seen him in years.

"I'm glad to have met your family." Ormund announced, mostly telling the truth. "Well, perhaps I should say future members of my family, considering that my brother's about to be married."

"Thank you for saving my brother's life." Robb clasped his hand on Ormund's shoulder. "He'd be dead if not for your actions."

"I merely did what was right." Ormund was inwardly glowing when he heard the praise, though attempted to act humble. "Your brother might not be able to walk again, but that doesn't change who he is." He doubted any of his siblings would turn their backs on him, though he had seen cruel surprises in the past.

"Your Grace, please do everything you can to protect my sisters." Robb all but pleaded with him. "I know little of the city, but if it is anything like you described it, they'll be in constant danger."

"You don't even need to ask me that." Ormund shook his head. "We are going to be family, after all. We'll be future good-brothers, however difficult it might be to imagine." He couldn't help but laugh.

"No more difficult than seeing Sansa as the queen of Westeros." Jon pointed out. "If I ever see her again, I'll have to start bowing and calling her 'Your Grace'." His jovial face turned into a more concerned one. "I merely hope your brother is good is her."

"I'm sure they will be; they seem quite taken with each other." Ormund had already seen the two of them kissing, even if he had elected not to disturb them in the act.

"Farewell, Your Grace." Robb said his final goodbyes to the Prince. "I hope your journey is safe and uneventful. And I hope we meet again soon."

"And thank you for persuading me not to go to the Night's Watch for the moment… even if you could have been more polite about it." Jon sighed slightly. "I don't know if my path will lead me there regardless but it's not a decision I have to make now."

"I hope the next time we meet, it'll be under more pleasant circumstances." Ormund waved. "However short our meeting might have been, it's a welcome break from the Capital. I only wish I'd be able to see more of your land."

"When we meet again, I hope we'll be able to undertake that hunting trip you were talking about when we first met." Jon suggested. "It's been some time since any of us were able to spare the time."

"Or we could have another sparring match and see you defeat him once again." Robb laughed.

"If we do, I promise you: I won't lose to you again, Snow." Ormund was still slightly angry about what happened, though he decided to let it pass. "I underestimated you once; I won't do so again." He laughed at the very thought. "Farewell, Good-brother."

"Farewell, Your Grace." Jon smiled slightly at that, fully aware how much it annoyed Ormund.

XXXXXXXXXX

He spent a great deal of his time during their journey back to King's landing watching how Joffrey and Sansa interacted with each other. They were laughing, joking, with Sansa's hands all over him. For Joffrey's part, he appeared entranced with her. Neither of them knew that Ormund was watching them, of course; he'd learned how to keep to the shadows a long time before this.

It had become close to an obsession with him. The instant they left Winterfell, Ormund had promised himself that he would speak to Ned Stark about the capital and how best to keep from being murdered in his sleep, but had not yet gotten around to it. When he wasn't exploring the countryside or trading wits with Tyrion, he was observing his brother and future good-sister.

However overjoyed he might have been for his brother, there was an empty feeling in Ormund's heart that shouldn't be there. He expected to be relieved at the thought of his older brother no longer annoying and frequently tormenting him, but instead he felt the opposite. He had become accustomed to Joffrey's presence, however unbearable he frequently considered it.

"It's only natural to miss your brother." His mother had told him when she encountered Ormund sitting, feeling sorry for himself. He should have known that his mother wouldn't leave him alone for long about the subject.

"I don't miss him!" Ormund had denied, his face red. "I don't miss him at all! I was just wondering what it would be like to have a young woman look at me that way." He had found that the most effective types of lies were ones that were coated in truth. Ormund did wonder what such an experience would be. It wasn't as if he didn't have opportunity, as numerous noble families had tried all but pimping their daughters to him in an effort to gain favor at court.

"You can't lie to me, sweetie." His mother had shaken her head, smiling slightly. "Just because your brother is infatuated with his bride-to-be doesn't mean that he doesn't care about you anymore."

"Mother, I'm fine." Ormund refused to admit weakness to anyone. "I am slightly envious at the fact that he's found a young woman who loves him so, but that doesn't mean I actually miss him! I'm happier without dealing with all his bullshit!" She left him alone after that, but wasn't convinced. He was attempting to convince himself and was doing a rather poor job of it.

At the moment, though, he had more important business to conduct. From what little he did know of his father's best friend, Ned Stark was not at all suited to life in King's Landing. He was decent and honorable, two traits that did not lead to a long life expectancy.

He moved his house next to Ned's, hoping to catch his attention. When he saw that Stark was lost in his own thoughts, Ormund was forced to interrupt him. "Lord Stark, I need to speak with you." Ormund demanded. "It's quite important and it can't wait."

"Of course, Your Grace." Ned bowed his head. His father was paying little attention, telling dirty jokes to his entourage. His mother would still be in the carriage, meaning that neither of them would notice his disappearance.

"I need to speak with you in private; this isn't something I want anyone to overhear." Ormund mentioned in a tone that brooked no disagreement. Stark acquiesced and the two of them moved ahead of the column. Both were well aware that this would make some suspicious, but it was better than actually being overheard.

"Lord Stark, what do you know about life in King's Landing?" Ormund asked once he was reasonably sure that they would not be eavesdropped on. He needed to know if his worries were correct.

"I've heard many things, little of it good." Ned Stark frowned. He was clearly unhappy about being the Hand of the King and had reluctantly accepted it for his father's sake. Ormund remembered an old Valyrian saying that men best suited for power were individuals that were the most reluctant to take it. Stark qualified there, no doubt.

"Well, in that case, I hope you're willing to listen to what I have to say about that shithole of a city." Hopefully unlike Sansa, Ned would at least be willing to hear him out. "The rule is simple: trust no one. Everyone has their own agendas, their own plans, and the truth is a completely foreign concept to them."

"I suspected as much." Ned sighed. "I care little for the city, but Robert is my oldest friend and this is the least I can do to honor him."

 _Even after everything that happened, he still doesn't fully trust me._ Ormund noted with some displeasure. On the other hand, that kind of approach might make the difference between life and death for him. "The first thing you should know is that my father was not joking or exaggerating. You're going to be the one doing most of the actual ruling. He's sat over perhaps half a dozen Small Council meetings in his entire reign."

"What?!" Ned screamed, his horse nearly throwing him in response.

"Hard to believe, perhaps, but it's true." Ormund shrugged. "Over the last year where I've been sitting in on them, he hasn't shown up once. Uncle Stannis and Jon Arryn did most of the actual government, while he focused on other pursuits." As his father's oldest friend, Ned Stark no doubt knew what they were, but he decided not to speak of it out loud.

"How could Robert have done that?" Ned scowled. "I've known him since he was a boy and he frequently skipped his lessons, but I can't conceive of him treating the crown with such indifference."

"He's never said as much to me, but my father hates being King." Ormund confessed, hoping that Stark would be able to at least partially motivate his father to take a more active role. "A couple times, I've even heard him say how much he wished he could abdicate the throne and become a sellsword in Essos. He cares nothing for running the realm. I do not wish to denigrate my father, but the truth is what it is and you deserve to know it. You need to know what you're walking into."

"Thank you for warning me, Your Grace." Ned bowed his head in thanks. "I still find it a little much to believe, however."

"Well, anything you heard about this city doesn't even come close to the truth." Ormund admitted. "I've done a few things to clean up the corruption, but it's like trying to hold back the Narrow Sea with your bare hands. The Small Council meetings are dull and tedious, though I do my utmost to suffer through them. With you as Hand of the King, I am hopeful that we will be able to curtail things before we collapse."

"I cannot believe Robert has reduced the realm to such a state." Ned Stark could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Surely Jon Arryn and his brother Stannis would be able to talk some sense into him."

"When it comes to economic matters, my father refuses to listen to anyone." Ormund sighed. "He has had shouting matches with both of them, but he will not bend and ultimately, he is the king and his word is law. I've managed to persuade him a few times, but there's only so much I can do. I'm hoping since you're his closest friend, you'll have better luck than the rest of us."

"If the city is as bad as you claim, I will set it to order." Stark vowed. "I'm sure I can get through to Robert."

"My father isn't actually a fool, even if most at court only see him as a drunken, lustful king." Ormund warned. "The problem is that he's fallen rather deep into despair and has become indifferent to his duties." Most of the time, Ormund wanted nothing to do with the throne and was happy to leave Joffrey the burden. Every so often, though… he wished he was the oldest son so he could set the city to rights.

"He truly did love her after all." Ned Stark remarked after a minute of silence. It took Ormund a moment to realize he was referring to his sister, Lyanna.

"You're going to be little more than a target, you and your daughters." Ormund decided to cut right to the chase. "You might be the second-most powerful man in Westeros on paper, but you're an outsider. You have no power base, no allies, no spies, yet you're going to have to play the Game of Thrones."

"I don't know how you Southerners do things, but up North, we do not play games." Ned Stark refused to listen. "I refuse to take bribes and succumb to corruption as you say so many others in the city have. Setting the city to rights will be my first priority, along with discovering Jon Arryn's murderer, but I will not play the game."

"I beg your pardon, Lord stark, but you really don't have a choice." Ormund was seriously tempted to grab a mace in order to see if anything was capable of getting through Stark's thick head. "So long as you are Hand of the King, you must play in order to survive. If not for yourself, think of your daughters and your men. Sansa is going to be queen and she's never had to worry about others trying to use her for their own gain.

"Nor can you expect any support from the Small Council, especially not now that Lord Arryn is dead and Uncle Stannis has fled to Dragonstone for reasons known only to him. I'll be blunt with you: I was listening to the conversation you had with my father. He's right; a war is coming, a truly terrible war, and it must be prevented."

"You were spying on us?" Stark glared at Ormund, a small scowl on his face.

"You'd better get used to that." Ormund dismissed. "As the King's hand, you're going to be watched every second of every day. Wherever you go, somebody is going to know about it. So are you willing to take my advice or would you prefer to blunder your way through your office?"

"Very well, inform me of everything." Stark responded with a resigned voice.

"Renly's not exactly corrupt, but he does not take his duties seriously in the least." Ormund did not mention his Uncle's depravity. It was an open secret at court; his father was probably one of the only men who didn't know. "Pycelle is my Grandfather's creature. He serves House Lannister completely, so anything you say to him is certain to reach Tywin's ears."

"Does the King know of this?" Realization was beginning to reach Stark's brain.

"Quite honestly, he's harmless compared to Varys and Littlefinger." Pycelle did not worry Ormund. While hardly the foolish old man he pretended to be, he was at least only focused on supporting House Lannister. "Those two are vastly more dangerous and even now, I have no clue what they truly want or what their ultimate goal is. Varys knows everything about everyone, it seems like. I'd like to know his secret.

"Littlefinger gets away with what he does because few see him as a threat. Oh, they don't actually trust him; it's just that he's seen as a harmless prankster and not a dangerous enemy. As Master of Coin, he's made himself too invaluable to be removed." Not to mention too clever. Ormund had replaced a few of his cronies with his own men once they were caught embezzling. He had a strong inkling that Littlefinger had a lot more to do with the debt than anyone believed, but had never been able to find any hard evidence to prove it.

"I still cannot believe Robert would allow that… man to become Master of Coin." Stark's voice was full of venom, something that delighted Ormund.

"Yes, well, the King is a big spender and Baelish has a gift for discovering Gold Dragons as if they were merely lying about on the ground." Ormund shrugged. "Then there are of course his boasts about taking your wife's maidenhood."

"Baelish has said this?" Ned had some skepticism in his voice, though the rising anger indicated that he was willing to hear him out.

"Yes. In fact, he's claimed to have taken the maidenheads of both your wife and your good-sister Lysa." Ormund confirmed. "In fact, he's willing to give every last detail to anyone who wants to listen. I doubt too many actually believe him, but they enjoy a good dirty story." Stark still appeared very skeptical of Ormund's claim. "Oh, you don't have to take my word on this. I would be amazed if you did, in fact. Once we arrive at King's Landing, you're free to verify what I've told you for yourself."

"Thank you for informing me of this." Ned Stark's voice turned to ice. He gripped the reins of his horse so tightly that his hands began to turn blue. "I am glad to know that I can count on at least one ally in King's Landing." Ned went silent and refused to speak any more, ending the conversation and moving back to Robert's side.

Ormund allowed himself a private smirk. While he wasn't above lying when it found it necessary, he had learned over time that the truth could be a far more devastating weapon. Littlefinger had indeed bragged of taking Lady Catelyn's maidenhood to anyone who could tolerate listening to him. He'd heard many stories of the short tempers of Northerners and while Ormund knew not to accept such stories at face value, the look on Stark's face told him that he was ready to kill.

With luck, Stark would gut Littlefinger and save him the trouble.


End file.
